After Mary Met Marshall
by Sadie Elfgirl
Summary: "Maybe you'd get respect if you ever actually did something to earn it." She knew just what to say to draw the most blood.  It reminded him of when they first started working together...
1. Lacking in Respect

** Hello all, and welcome to a new story. Once again, I am trying something new and different! This is my first In Plain Sight fanfic, so I hope you all love. I've had a lot of fun writing it, and my wonderful sibling beta has had a lovely time beta-ing. **

***IMPORTANT* This story jumps back and forth from the past, directly after Mary and Marshall meet, to the time in Trojan Horst. So some of the story will be that episode, written out, some will gaps of the episode filled in, and a lot of it will be the events of the past. Just to let y'all know, there will some skipping about. It shouldn't be too disjointed though.**

** While watching Trojan Horst (being one of the best episodes EVER) we came to the line where Mary tells Marshall that maybe he would get respect if he did anything to earn it and my brother-in-law declared that there was a story there. Now this is unusual, cause he doesn't normally descend to my sibling beta and I's level of obsessive madness, but we were so glad he did. Plot bunnies immediately began copulating, and before long we were hammering out a fic. :) Let me know what you think! I adore reviews!**

There were days when it was a wonderful, meaningful thing to be a U.S. Marshal.

Then there were days like today. Days when he would gladly pull his hair out in great big chunks, because, once again, he had somehow managed to royally piss his partner off. Marshall Mann sighed in frustration as he approached the bench where Mary was sitting. He had no idea how he had managed to upset her. This morning she had seemed fine. Better than fine. She had purchased coffee for everyone in a rare moment of generosity. Granted, the moment he had questioned said generosity she had reverted to her un-treating ways. Still, she had been smiling, her mood had been good.

By the time she had reached the conference room, her entire demeanor had shifted from friendly, to porcupine-like prickly hostility.

There was at most, thirty feet between his desk and that room. She had crossed it in less than ten seconds. Was this some new phase? Some kind of ultra Mary Shannon Mood model? The voice of a used car salesman blared in his head. _ I tell you friend, nothing beats the M. Shannon. From zero to bitch in under twenty seconds! How's that for a sweet deal?_

He gave his head a rueful shake. He knew that such thoughts were not helpful. They would not contribute to an amiable partnership as he and Mary transported their high risk witness. Still, the stony silence in the car, coupled with the ear buds and the obvious ignoring of every attempt at communication...

He was irked. Annoyed, actually. Mary was ticked, and she was acting like a child, and he was sick of it.

"Ok," he said tersely as he sat down next to her. "Obviously you want me to go on a fishing expedition to figure out what the hell's bothering you, but I'm not gonna play that." without even looking at him, she turned her body away, eyes glued to her phone. Marshal resisted the urge to grind his teeth together and continued. "So when you decide to tell me what's wrong, you just tell me. Fair enough?" No reply. Surprise, surprise. He leaned forward to look into her face. "Fair enough?"

Mary's eyes never left the device in her hands. "Don't worry about it." Her words said don't worry, but her tone was too offhand. "Couple months, we won't even be working together." A bite came into the cadence of her voice.

_What on earth..._? Marshall stared at her for a second, eyebrows drawing together. What was she talking about? Yes, he was considering leaving, had even had another job offer, but he hadn't told her about it at all, so the only way she could know was...if...she...had...

_Son of a..._

"You read my letter." It wasn't a question. And it was all he could do to keep his tone level. A wave of frustration began to build.

Mary turned to look at him for the first time since they had left Albuquerque. Her pretty face had a smile on it, but it was the kind of smile worn by treacherous imps luring people off safe paths to drown in bogs. Sarcastic, mean, biting.

He hated that smile. Without warning, the wave broke and crashed through his brain.

The prison door buzzed, and he looked up to see one of the prison guards pushing out their witness. Maybe it was just the frame of mind he was in, but Marshall took one look at the doughy, colorless little man and disliked him instantly. Everything about him spelled obnoxious, from his graying goatee, to the short sleeve button shirt...

"Easy there meat and potatoes!" he sniped at the guard as he shuffled his way forward.

To the snide, nasal, whining voice. This witness transport was going to suck.

Marshall stood and took hold of Horst's shirt collar as the man proudly declared, "I am a valuable federal resource."

The lanky lawman pushed him against the wire cage wall just a little bit harder than necessary and began patting him down.

"Horst Vanderhoff for transport." the prison guard handed Vanderhoff's file over to Mary along with a small black satchel.

Her eyes were already searching over the pages as she mumbled a 'thanks'. He might be seriously upset with her, but he knew that his partner did her job to the best of her ability.

"Oh great," Horst moped. That man's voice was really going to grate on Marshall. "Two more minimum wage geniuses. Are the feds trying to get me killed? Do you people have any idea who Lola is?" Faster he got this over with, the faster he could get Horst to shut up. "Hey," Horst glanced backwards over his shoulder as Marshall dug into his pockets. "Watch it there, pervoid I don't swing that way."

Marshall ignored him. He had heard worse from multiple felons over his years in the Marshal service. Besides which, he had something else on his mind. "I can't believe you read my mail." He shot a glare at his partner, unconsciously tightening his grip on Horst's shirt collar. Marshall's words came out clipped, terse. Angry.

Mary snorted. " I can't believe you don't know I always read your mail." She turned her head back towards the prison guard. "He's diabetic?"

Only Mary would see precedent as being a compelling case for violating someone's privacy. And not just any someone. Him. _His_ privacy.

"Type one," the guard nodded towards the pages she had in her hands. "Last page of the medical."

The lanky lawman pulled Horst away from the wire wall by his collar and turned him to face Mary. "Yeah," the little man reached out manacled hands toward the small black bag in Mary's hands. His weasel face creased into a smirking smile. "That's my personal stuff."

Marshall shoved him down onto the bench where he and Mary had been sitting moments before.

"Get a number," Mary ordered, pushing the satchel into Horst's hands.

"I did," Horst said in a superior manner. "Twenty minutes ago."

"Test again," the blond marshal's voice left no room for disagreement. " I need to know you're fit to travel."

"She needs to know everything about everybody," Marshall snapped. His face was looking at their witness, but his words were directed at her.

"I can tell," Vanderhoff's eyes traveled towards Mary and gave her a quick up and down look. A lascivious light glinted in his colorless face for a moment. "She's been undressing me with her eyes ever since I walked out here."

God help him, today might be the day he actually killed a witness.

"Yeah, cause pasty accountant types _really _get me crazy," Mary sniped mercilessly, green eyes rolling, lips smiling.

He _hated_ that smile.

"Aw, now that's just unkind," Horst sounded genuinely disappointed, and it was all Marshall could do not to join his partner in an eye roll.

Mary turned her gaze back to her partner's lean form where it leaned against the wire wall. "So were you ever going to tell me?" her eyes were snapping with fire. "Or was the plan just let me figure it out when you stopped showing up for work?"

He wasn't in the mood to placate her for once. Straightening up, he reached out for the file in her hands. He wanted to read it for himself. "Actually, I was going to write a letter," Marshall had to jerk the file to pull it from her fingers. What was she, five? "and then mail it to myself, that way I'd be sure you got the news."

Mary looked up at him and smiled. What was it about her smiles? Most people, they smiled and those who saw it felt better. When Mary smiled like that, she was trying to make everyone around her feel worse. And it usually worked.

"Staying live, at one oh five." Horst interrupted.

"You know," Mary snagged the blood tester back from Horst and checked it herself before turning angry green eyes back to her partner. "Please don't act like you're the injured party here, ok? At least show me that much respect."

The gall of her was truly amazing.

"Respect?" Marshall nearly snorted on the word, but it wasn't really funny. Normally irony appealed to him, but he was too angry to find the humor in his particular situation. "When have you ever shown me respect? Or anyone else for that matter?" The tall inspector glared at the pages of the medical file in his hands, trying to assimilate their meaning through the red haze that was obscuring his vision.

Horst glanced up at the bickering pair, his eyebrows crawling up his forehead as he shook his inhaler. "This is fun..."

Mary shrugged carelessly, but her words remained biting and focused. "Maybe you'd _get_ respect if you ever actually did something to earn it."

That brought his head back up with a snap. Marshall's jaw hung open for a second, anger and hurt warring for supremacy. Anger was winning. Big time. "And you wonder why I didn't share my future plans with you," he said, half amazed, half incensed at the venom she was spewing. Was that what she really thought of him?

Without skipping a beat, Mary was snapping back. Her words were sharp and hard, like broken glass. "No," she spat, "what I wonder is why I put up with your _insipid_ running commentary for the past three years!" Before he could respond she was reaching down and grabbing hold of Horst's arms, pulling him upright. "Come on, let's go. Up." The blonde marshal began hustling their witness away, without waiting for her partner.

Marshall followed swiftly, seething as he glared at the back of her head. He knew, in the back of his thoughts, that her words stemmed from hurt. She was hurt that he hadn't told her. Mary didn't deal with hurt well. Or change. Or any emotion other than perpetual, acerbic, misery.

It didn't help that he knew. He hated having his privacy invaded. After working with Mary for several years he was used to her prying into most aspects of his life, but this was something he had wanted to decide for himself for _once_!

"Three to one I'm dead before we get to the car," Horst's nasal voice predicted as he shuffled his way down the hall, chains clinking. "Have my brains blown out all over the parking lot, and then the two most annoying people on the planet bickering over my lifeless corpse."

_Almost like poetry,_ Marshall thought darkly.

"Relax, Horst," Mary responded, her voice gentling ever so slightly. "No one knows who you are, where you are, or where you're going." Her hand suddenly came off Horst's arm and jabbed backward, palm flat up as the snap came back into her tone full force. "Gimme the keys. _I'm_ driving."

Several phrases floated through Marshall's mind, all of which would have gotten him slapped by his mother if she knew her son was thinking of telling his female partner where exactly she could put those keys...

Digging into his pocket, he yanked the car keys out and slapped them into her outstretched palm with a bit more force than was his habit. "Try not to drive like you stole it," he snapped, seizing Horst's arm and pushing past her. Marshall was fuming. His partner was one of the most difficult people in the world to get along with. He prided himself on being able not only to deal with her biting sarcasm, but maintaining a fairly stable friendship with the hell child. Now, however, she had crossed a line. She had not only invaded his privacy, but then had the balls to be ticked off at _him_.

Jerking the back door of his SUV open, the lanky inspector gave Horst a push. "Get in," he said shortly.

Horst raised his eyebrows. "The _back_ seat? I don't think so. I get car sick..."

"There's a bucket." Marshall emphasized his words with a not-so-gentle hand. Ignoring the snide mutterings that followed, he waited until Horst was inside and slammed the door shut. Mary was already climbing into the driver's seat on the other side of the car, her movements jerky with barely constrained anger.

Marshall swiftly got into the passenger seat, avoiding looking at his partner. He could see her glaring at him out of the corner of his eye, but kept his gaze fixed firmly out the window. With a soft growl, Mary started the SUV and gunned the engine. Despite his caveat, the car pealed out of the prison parking lot so quickly he was slightly surprised that they were not immediately followed and pulled over for fear that they were inmates absconding with a vehicle.

Icy silence descended. Both partners sat in unbending rigidity, glaring through the windshield at the road unwinding before them.

_Maybe you'd get respect if you ever actually did something to earn it._ Mary's mocking words banged around inside his head, bruising him. She knew just what to say to draw the most blood. It was her special gift. On some level, he knew that she didn't actually mean it. She was lashing out because she was angry.

It reminded him of when they first started working together.

The iron-laden hills rolled by the windows, but Marshall ceased to really see them as his mind wandered...

0-0-0-0

2003

0-0-0-0

Marshall looked up, his gaze coming to rest on his new partner. She was humming softly to herself as she banged her desk drawers open and shut, familiarizing herself with her new workplace. It had only been a month since they had traversed the states with Claudia and Henry. Mary had returned back East briefly to pack up her belongings, then reappeared.

Judging by how well they had gotten along so far, Marshall was absolutely certain their partnership would stand as an example to all law enforcement agencies for the rest of time.

The example of what _not_ to do if you wished to avoid dismembering your partner and hiding their remains in (as Mary described it) the 'desert hellbox of Albuquerque.'

He was already deciding which of his kitchen knives at home would be best suited for the task.

Sighing, the lanky inspector pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to remove the tension that was gathering there. This was his own fault, he had to remind himself. He'd brought this on himself. True, he had been very impressed with Mary. She did her job with a degree of excellence that he would like to see copied everywhere. When he told Stan to snap her up, he had been serious. And it wasn't like she didn't have her moments of humanity. His mind flashed to the dark interior of the car...Henry and Claudia sleeping in the back seat as the hum of the road filled the silence. She had revealed a small piece of herself; a clue that there was something to her besides bitter, stinging, sarcasm. That was part of why Marshall had encouraged Stan to take her.

After their hours long desk rearranging debacle, he realized that there were going to be personality issues. The largest of which being that Mary did not respect him enough to reveal any more of her personality than the very sharpest of its' edges.

And he wasn't quite sure how to overcome that. Marshall stretched his legs out under his desk and leaned back against his chair, slouching with easy grace.

An alert chimed softly on his computer, pulling his attention away from his new partner. Blue eyes scanned the message quickly, his face becoming more and more grim. His jaw tightened.

The wife of one of his witnesses had been admitted to the hospital with a broken arm. Pushing back his chair, Marshall rose to his feet.

"Going somewhere?" Green eyes fastened on him with a look akin to a hawk sighting a mouse.

"My witness' spouse was just hospitalized," he said shortly, pulling on his jacket. "I need to check it out."

"Do you follow them around and wipe their noses when they have colds too?" Mary also rose to her feet, grabbing her leather coat. "I mean, I knew that wimpsec was soft on the whole hand holding deal, but if you expect me to run after them with a box of tissues, I think my time might be better served back East."

"No one said you had to come," he snapped. No one could get under his skin faster than this woman. No one.

"Like I have anything else to do." Mary pushed the elevator button and smiled up at him. "No, until I get some basket cases of my own, I'm going to have to make do following you around and making sure you don't screw up too badly."

The elevator doors slid open and both inspectors stepped in.

"So what's the deal on your sick little witness?"

"It's not the witness," Marshall corrected her. "It's his wife. And she's not sick. She checked in with a broken arm."

The green eyes looked up at him incredulously. "Seems pretty straightforward...why are we checking on this again? I mean, unless you think one of the people from their past life broke her arm to stop him from testifying."

"I am perfectly certain that this has absolutely nothing to do with the people from their previous life," Marshall said firmly.

He ignored the copious rolling of her eyes. Obviously, she assumed that he was 'babying' his witnesses, and he wasn't inclined to set her straight.

He didn't have to justify himself to her.

0-0-0-0

"U.S. Marshal, Marshall Mann. I need to see Marie Andrews." Marshall flashed his badge to the nurse at the station, ignoring Mary's sniggering at his name.

"This way, please." The nurse quickly rose to her feet, beckoning to him. Marshall followed after her, aware that Mary was on his heels.

The nurse pushed aside a curtain that enclosed one of the beds in the ER, revealing the woman seated there. She looked up quickly, eyes large and frightened. She was small and frail looking at the best of times, Marshall knew. Now, however, she looked like the survivor of a war camp. Blue and black smudges showed up clearly against the background of her naturally pale skin. With her good hand she held an ice pack to her right eye, which was rapidly swelling shut. Long, chestnut hair straggled in long strands down her neck, escaping from her braid. Her left arm was encased in plaster from the elbow to the wrist and resting in a sling. Her whole posture was hunched, as though by squeezing herself into a smaller ball she could escape notice. Marshall heard Mary swear in surprise behind him, but he was unfortunately not shocked to see Marie in this condition.

Marie had flinched as the curtain had been pulled back, but her body relaxed slightly when she saw who was on the other side. "Marshall," she whispered. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I got the alert that one of my witnesses was in the hospital," he replied calmly, even as his blood boiled. "What happened?"

Her eyes immediately slid away from his face and fastened to a point roughly even with his adam's apple. "I fell," she mumbled. "Down the stairs."

"Seriously?" Mary stepped forward, eyes flashing. "Those stairs must pack a hell of a punch, huh?"

Marie's eyes darted to Mary in fear, then away again. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then I will shear all attempts at subtlety from any further communication with you," Mary snapped.

"Good lord, you were being subtle before?" Marshall couldn't help the stab. As much as he agreed with the sentiment of what Mary was saying, this was his witness...

Mary shot him a glare before turning her attention back to Marie. "Who...hit...you?" the blond marshal enunciated her words clearly and carefully.

"No one hit me," Marie insisted quietly. "I fell. Down the stairs."

"Do you really expect me to believe..."

Marshall placed a hand on Mary's shoulder and pulled her back, cutting her off. "Marie," he said softly. "I know that you want to protect Dominic, but this has to stop."

"Nothing has to stop, because nothing is happening." Marie's words were mumbled into her lap. "I fell down the stairs. I got bruised up and broke my arm. Dominic hasn't even been home all morning. He's been out playing golf."

"Marie," Marshall struggled to keep his tone even. It was hard, especially with his partner staring at him in disbelief at his apparent stupidity. "Have you ever heard of a spiral break?"

"Yes," Marie answered, obviously nonplussed by the sudden conversation switch.

He smiled tightly. "I thought you might."

"Why the hell does it matter?" Mary interjected. "It's obvious what's happened here..."

"I _ask_," Marshall continued, raising his voice to be heard and ignoring Mary. "because it is the type of break that you have sustained in your...fall." The lanky inspector tried to catch Marie's eye, but she was very determined to avoid looking directly at him. "Caused by the twisting of the bone until it breaks, it is most common in child abuse cases." More silence. "And did you know it is almost impossible to sustain in a fall down a flight of stairs? Especially for an adult."

Mary looked vaguely impressed, and Marie still would not look at him.

Marshall crossed his arms over his chest, trying to keep a tight rein on his temper. This wasn't the first time he had come to the hospital for Marie. "Marie, I'm going to have to call my boss. This is obviously a violation of the WitSec regulations."

Marie's head jerked up, eyes wide and frightened. "No! You can't! If he gets kicked out of witness protection he'll be killed!"

"And if he stays in _you_ will be!" Mary's eyes were round with disbelief as she stared at the broken woman on the bed in front of her. "I can't believe this! You're actually defending you abusive crap bag of a husband when he's done _this _to you?"

Marie was staring at him, pleading. "Marshall, please!"

"Get some rest," Marshall said firmly, stepping back and pulling the curtain closed once more. Taking a few steps down the hall, he pulled his cell phone out and dialed Stan's number.

0-0-0-0

Mary watched her gangly partner step down the hall and pull out his phone. Good. At least he had some balls. Enough to go ahead and report the jackass responsible for that woman's injuries. He had filled her in on the witness on their way to the hospital. Dominic Andrews, formerly known as Dominic Andrelli, was in the position of having info that would bring several crime circles to their knees. His testimony was still pending, so Marshall was in the unenviable position of keeping the creep on the up and up and in WitSec. Apparently, the lawman had reached his limit.

And about time! Geez, what did it take for people to grow a pair around here? The stupidity of the woman resting behind the curtain galled her. What was it with women like that? Placing yourself in the position to be abused over and over again...lying about how she received her injuries to insure that her asshole husband would remain free to bludgeon her another day. Mary shook her head in amazement. Unbelievable. If some guy ever tried to hit her she would rat on him so fast...well, no. Now that she thought on it, she probably wouldn't tell anyone either.

But only because she wanted to avoid being a suspect when his dismembered limbs started showing up in various parts of the desert.

Flicking her ponytail over her shoulder, Mary crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. Her green eyes wandered down the hall, coming to rest on her new partner. Gradually, it dawned on her that something was going wrong. Marshall's back was turned to her, so she couldn't see his features, but his posture was rigid. His voice had dropped from the tones of normal conversation to a low, intense volume.

This couldn't be good.

0-0-0-0

"...so obvious it's not even funny. It's time to kick this asshole to the curb, Stan."

The ominous silence that greeted his words filled Marshall with apprehension.

"She won't admit he did it?" Stan's voice was hesitant, and Marshall groaned inwardly. He had played this song and dance before.

"No." The syllable was replete with frustration. "She insists that she fell down the stairs." Marshall rubbed a hand across his face. He knew where this was heading, and he didn't like it.

"Any other witnesses?" His boss' voice was not hopeful.

"No, but…"

"Marshall, you know what we're dealing with. Dominic is key in the case against the Andrelli family. He stands to bring down a major organization."

"Stan..."

"And unless you have solid evidence..."

"Stan!"

"...there's nothing I can do!" Marshall could hear the aggravation in Stan's voice over the line. He knew the chief inspector despised Dominic almost as much as himself, but he was right. Dominic's testimony was too important to lose without hard evidence.

With a grimace of disgust, the lawman closed his cell and pushed it back into his jacket pocket.

"Hey!"

Mary's sharp voice turned him to face her. She was standing with her hands on her hips, observing him through narrowed eyes. "What's going on? What's the problem?"

Sarcastic and scathing she might be, but unobservant she was not. "Unless Marie admits that Dominic was the one who injured her, or someone else witnesses the abuse, there's nothing we can do."

Fascinating. He could almost see her blood pressure rise with her eyebrows.

"_WHAT!"_

0-0-0-0

Every so often, Mary found herself in the position of having so many curses, sarcastic jibes and scathing diatribes fighting to be heard at once that she actually lapsed into a period of silence as they sorted themselves out. This was one of those times. The word 'what' managed to escape the verbal mosh pit in her brain, but before anything else could make it from synapses to tongue, they were interrupted by the arrival of a man who could only be Dominic.

A number of things tipped Mary off to his identity. First there was the way her partner's eyes narrowed and jaw tightened. Mostly, it was the incredibly strong aura he cast. The unmistakable aura of _dumbass_. Mary's aura reader was finely tuned; she had never mistaken a dumbass reading.

Dominic was big. Almost as tall as Marshall and significantly broader. Dark hair looked like it was trying to twist itself into tight curls, but he had cut it too short. Muscles bulged against the tight sleeves of the polo shirt he wore. He had big, meaty, ham-sized hands. All the better for hitting tiny women with. Mary could actually feel bile rising in the back of her throat as she looked at him.

"Marshall." Dominic swaggered forward, shoving ham hands into his jeans pockets. "Thought I'd see you here."

"I am alerted if anything happens to either of you," Marshall said blandly, though Mary was fairly certain he was grinding his teeth. "You know that."

"Yeah, I do." The arrogant overtones of his voice made Mary want to slap him. "So did Marie tell you what happened?"

"Yeah," Mary said with a laugh. "Yeah, she did. Funny story too. Apparently, a flight of stairs jumped her in an alley, twisted her arm till it broke and proceeded to beat the crap out of her while her husband was playing golf. Did I forget anything, marshal Marshall?"

"Only the part where he's my witness," Marshall said shortly. "If you'll excuse me..."

To Mary's surprise, her partner caught hold of Dominic's arm and pulled him away down the hall. He stopped far enough away to give the appearance of a private conversation, but not far enough away for Mary to strain her ears eavesdropping.

"It was made clear to you what was expected when you came into the witness protection program," Marshall was speaking in a low, quick voice, his syllables suddenly very pronounced. Obviously, the tall man was holding his temper on a short leash. "What you are doing is a breach of every protocol we have, and if I can get your wife to admit that you are what you are, I promise you that I will cheerfully kiss your testimony goodbye as I lock you in handcuffs and hand you over to the Albuquerque PD. I will sing. I will sing happy, upbeat, song and dance numbers from musicals because I will be beyond thrilled that your worthless carcass is in jail, where I am firmly convinced it belongs. Do we have an understanding?"

Mary eyed the two men contemplatively. Rather than looking remotely abashed, Dominic's face creased into a knowing smirk. "Look, Marshall," a New York accent dripped from his words. "We both know that with the goods I got, nobody is doing nothing to me. Not you, not your pretty little partner with the bad attitude, and not the police. Marie fell down some stairs. She's clumsy that way." A flat, menacing look entered Dominic's dark eyes as he stepped forward into Marshall's personal space. "She better watch her step, right? I wouldn't want her to ...fall...again."

Mary leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath. In another instant she was going to deck the jerk, protocol be damned.

"Oh, but just remember this," Dominic wagged one finger in a patronizing manner. "_if_ my wife does fall down those stairs again...you're not gonna do a thing to me. Now get out of my way. I want to visit the Mrs."

Marshall stepped directly into his path. "I believe I need to make a few more things clear to you."

Mary saw Dominic's eyebrows draw together sharply. This was a man that did not take to being crossed well. Probably the reason his wife was lying on an ER bed with a broken arm. She saw him bring his hands up to shove Marshall out of the way and immediately straightened from her semi-slouched position. She swore under her breath even as she took a step forward, fairly certain she was about to watch her new partner get his skinny ass kicked.

Marshall moved so quickly that she didn't quite understand what had happened for a moment. One instant, Dominic was reaching out with those violent, beefy hands to forcibly remove the lanky lawman from his path. The next, Marshall had seized his wrist expertly and folded the man's arm back on itself, twisting the wrist at an angle it was never meant to turn.

It was so smooth, Mary never saw it coming. She stopped in her tracks, gaping at the sight of Marshall calmly holding Dominic in place with a minimum amount of effort as the former mob member whimpered in pain.

"As I was saying," Marshall's voice was bland, even as his eyes burned. "There are a few more things that we need to discuss. I wish to _impress_ upon you the _severity_ of your _actions._" With every accented word, Marshall bent the wrist just a little more.

Mary found herself to be enjoying the little whimpering sounds that were coming from the muscle bound moron.

"You, and Marie are my witnesses," Marshall said icily. "It is my job to keep _both_ of you safe. What is happening right now is not safe for her, obviously, but it is also not safe for you. You are drawing too much attention to yourself, and that will get you killed." Another twist, provoking a small howl. Blue eyes narrowed coldly. "I promise."

Dominic's knees were giving out, and Marshall bent at the waist, keeping pressure on the captured wrist as the muscle man sank to the floor. His diction was sharp and frigid as he leaned forward into Dominic's face. "And I also promise you that I won't stand by and watch you get away with this." Marshall's gaze flickered to the curtain shrouded bed, then back to the man at his feet. "She had better not end up in here again. If she does, it will go very, very badly for you. Do you understand?"

"I get it! I get it! Leggo, man!"

Mary stared as Marshall released his hold, allowing Dominic to regain his feet and slink towards his wife's bedside. She thought about tripping him as he went past her, but decided that he had already been humiliated enough. The blond marshal cocked her head to one side, observing her partner carefully as he turned to face her.

A confused expression crossed his face. "What? Why are you staring?"

Mary could feel a smile curling the corners of her lips. "Let's just say that is the first time I've ever heard a grown man threaten a felon with musical theater while wearing cowboy boots and still pull off being a badass."

One of his eyebrows raised skeptically. "Thank...you?" His blue eyes darted down to his footwear in bewilderment. "And what is wrong with cowboy boots?"

"Typically they are worn by three groups of people. Cowboys, little boys, and men who actually are still little boys pretending to be adults."

"I'm not even going to ask which category I fall into."

"I think I'm going to have to come up with a new one. Especially since you reacted to the boot smack and not the one concerning the song and dance routines. Are you sure you're not gay?"

"Are you sure you're not a soulless banshee bent on sucking the life from those who surround you?"

Mary's eyebrows rose in appreciation. "That would be good, but I notice that you avoided answering the question." Before he could reply, she jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the couple least likely to be nominated for marriage of the year. "So what are we going to do about that creep?"

"There's nothing we _can_ do," Marshall said tiredly, looping his thumbs through his belt loops as his eyes followed Dominic's every move. "Not officially."

"Officially? That's the lamest cop out I think I've ever heard! Who cares about 'official'? That festering pile of waste is going to end up killing her!" Mary glared over her shoulder for a second, just in time to catch Dominic's eye. Despite his embarrassing incident being held at the mercy of a 6'2, 90 lb, song and dance, wish he were a cowboy man, the former mob member seemed to be regaining his attitude with alarming speed. Her green eyes narrowed.

With a final smirk in her direction, Dominic helped his wife to her feet and led her towards the exit that would not take him past Marshall.

But her partner wasn't having that. With a few long strides he was in front of them.

Dominic scowled angrily. (Though Mary noticed he kept both hands out of Marshall's reach) "What do you want? You said your piece!"

Ignoring him, Marshall focused on the frail woman by his side. "Marie," he said quietly, gently. Her face came up, but even from where Mary was standing it was obvious that Marie was avoiding his eyes.

Mary could see the frustration written out on her partner's face. He so obviously wanted to help her, but she wasn't going to let him.

"I just wanted to remind you that you have my phone number," Marshall sighed. "If you ever need help, if you're ever frightened about anything, if Dominic ever hits you again..."

"Hey!" Dominic tried to interject, but Marshall overrode him easily.

"...Then please, _please _call me. I will come, and I will help you."

Marie finally looked into his face, and a weak smile touched her lips. "You're a good guy, Marshall." she said softly. Dominic snorted in disgust and turned away.

"I'm gonna go get the car, babe. I'll meet you at the door in five. Don't be late." As he sauntered away, Marshall glared at his back. Mary was mildly surprised to see that Dominic didn't ignite with the force of the lawman's ire. She was also impressed that her new partner _had_ a look like that. Marshall Mann was turning into an interesting puzzle. He could hold a muscular man at bay with one hand, yet knew show tunes. Comforting distraught people came as easily to him as breathing, but he possessed a glare that looked like it should cause spontaneous combustion for those unlucky enough to be caught by it.

And there were the cowboy boots.

Mary shook her head in some wonder. For once, this was a puzzle that it didn't look like she would hate.

The blond marshal snorted in disgust at her own musings. Giving herself a mental slap, she sauntered towards Marshall and Marie. What was she thinking? In a few months, they would almost undoubtedly not be working together anymore. The longest anyone had ever put up with her as a partner was three.

No sense putting the mental energy into a puzzle she wouldn't need to solve.

Marshall turned back to Marie, glare disappearing. He looked tired, if anything. The small woman glanced towards the doors her husband had just gone through and bit her lip. Her mouth moved, but Mary couldn't hear what she was saying. Marshall apparently had the same problem. He bent towards her, inclining one ear. "I'm sorry?"

Another glance towards the door.

Mary drew close enough to hear just as Marie's words spilled from swollen lips.

"Would you really come and help?"

Marshall smiled. "I promise."

I promise. One of her favorite phrases, right up there with 'I'm sorry', and 'happily ever after.' Even as Marie scampered for the door, where her abusive husband was no doubt waiting, Mary couldn't help rolling her eyes.

0-0-0-0

Marshall turned just in time to catch the expression on his partner's face. "What?"

The green eyes actually looked on him in surprise. "I didn't say anything!"

"No," Marshall's tone was biting. "You were just examining the ceiling. Exactly what would you like me to do, hmmm?" His hands were resting on his hips, eyebrows drawn together, voice terse. He was being semi-unreasonable, getting so upset over a simple eye-roll, but his patience had been stretched way past the breaking point.

Not being the type of person to back down from an altercation, Mary faced him, lowering her metaphorical horns.

Marshal suddenly expected to see a red cape flutter and hear someone yell the word _'ole!'_

At this point, he wasn't sure which one of them was the bull and which one was the matador.

"Since you ask...get her to turn on her crapbag of a husband! Geez! How hard can it be?"

"She won't say anything against him," Marshall snapped back with complete conviction. "She never has, and she never will. I know my witness."

Something registered in his partner's face. "Wait...never _has_?" Her eyes narrowed. "How many times have you come to the hospital for her?" A righteous rage was simmering, he could tell. "More importantly, how many times have we looked the other way while that..._asshole_ has pummeled his wife?"

Oh how it hurt him to acknowledge the truth. He glared at her for a moment. She was so willing to pass judgment on anyone other than herself. "Three," he gritted through clenched teeth. "Three times. Which is why I know that she will never admit that he is hitting her. She won't do anything that could hurt him."

"So get her to leave! We could move her..."

"I suggested that to her the first time this happened," Marshall interrupted. "And every time since, with no better results. She knows that she could leave. She would be safe, he would stay in WitSec, and he would never be able to find her again." Thumb and forefinger came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "She won't go." The hand moved to grip the back of his neck in hopeless frustration. "And he won't stop hurting her. He's fully aware of how important his testimony is, and he is going to take advantage of the situation. No matter what happens, until his testimony is given, we are to keep him in WitSec almost at the cost of everything else. He knows that Marie will never say anything against him." He could see her readying a reply, which would no doubt be harsh, witty, forthright, and absolutely true. She had a knack for saying things with absolute clarity in a way that about as soothing as pouring a mixture of salted lemon juice over wounds received from a flogging. Whoever said 'the truth hurts' must have had a premonition involving this blond, venom-tongued woman. Before she could utter a word, he bulldozed ahead. "Do you think that I enjoy this situation? My hands are tied. I like my job and I am _officially_ forbidden to do anything that will interfere with Dominic presenting his testimony. The _instant_ I have anything that I can use against him and get him kicked out of WitSec, I will do it will a smile on my face and to hell with the case." He took a deep breath and let it out. "In the meantime, all I can do is promise her help if she asks. But she _has_ to ask, and she won't. I know my witness."

Was that a softening he saw in her hard, green eyes?

She sighed, looking past him towards the door where Marie had exited moments before. "You know he's probably going to end up killing her, right?"

Marshall closed his eyes. "I know." And he was afraid that it would be his fault.

**Okee dokee, that's it for now. Next chapter should be up shortly, within the next couple days I should think. :) Reviews are an excellent way to let me know how you think I'm doing! And I love them...crave them...neeeeeeeeeeeeed them...:)**


	2. Problems With Promises

**Hey all, many thanks for the reviews I have received already! Very uplifting, very encouraging. I already have a fair amount of this story written out, so I decided to go ahead and post the next chapter since it's relatively short. Third chapter should be quite long. Anyhoo, most of the chapters will start out in the *present day* meaning the time during Trojan Horst, and end with looking back into the past. Once again, thank you soooo much for the reviews! Enjoy the fic!**

**0-0-0-0**

Present Day

0-0-0-0

The SUV rumbled off the road, smoke rolling from the engine in white columns. The clanking and pinging sounded ominously like a car on its last legs. Marshall was already pulling his jacket off as Mary put the SUV in park. "Pop the hood," he said "I'll have a look." Mary did as she was bid and leaned back against the open window frame with a groan of frustration.

Stepping out of the car, the lanky inspector was struck by the heat. That boded ill if the car was indeed unfixable. Marshall pushed the hood up before pulling the cuff of his sleeve back on his right arm, rolling it loosely to his elbow. The tall man peered into the smoking maze of black tubes and wires. There was something...he couldn't see very well through the cloud of smoke boiling into his face...

"See anything?"

So impatient. Marshall leaned to the side so he could fix eyes on his partner. "Hang on, it's complicated under here." _And I've looked at it for all of two seconds. _Ignoring her eye roll, he turned his attention back to the task at hand. He could see something, but with the white haze the engine was exuding he couldn't be sure what it was exactly. Maybe it would be clearer from the bottom...

Marshall crouched, peering under the car. Immediately, his attention was caught by the trickling waterfall of some necessary fluid. The radiator hose had been ruptured. There was some kind of black goo smeared across it. _That can't be good._ The lawman dug into his back pocket for his handkerchief. _And Mary said only grandpas carry handkerchiefs. Ha!_ Marshall wiped the goo away and pulled back to examine it. It didn't _look _like anything but oil, grease, or any other number of things that someone would normally find under their car.

He sniffed the substance gingerly. As the biting, acrid smell reached his nostrils, he felt his stomach plunge and a shot of adrenaline punch through him. He recognized that smell from his high school chemistry class. The teacher had never forgiven him.

Acid. Someone had smeared acid over their radiator hose. Someone had deliberately sabotaged the car, which meant that they were all in danger _right now_.

Mary's voice called something, but with the hiss of the seizing engine in his ears, he couldn't make out the words. Rising to his feet, he took a step forwards, intending to come to the driver's window. "What'd you say?"

That's when he saw the two traveler's from the gas station, but by then it was too late.

He heard the shot; felt the impact drive him from his feet and backwards into the dirt. Mary's voice called his name, and he could hear her fear and distress.

He gasped as he hit the ground. The SUV's engine gunned and he realized that Mary had put it in reverse, spinning so that it covered him and she could shoot through the passenger side window. Not ideal. She was trying to protect him.

Marshall rolled, crawling forward until he could reach up and catch hold of the car. Mary was firing. The assassins were firing. They were firing at his partner.

He had seen them. He had _seen_ them, but like an idiot he had overlooked the threat!

If Mary died it would be his fault.

Inch by painstaking inch he hauled himself up, ignoring the sudden and brutal flare of pain. Mary had stopped firing. Why had she stopped firing? His head came up over the edge of the SUV's hood in time to see the male taking careful aim at her.

Oh _hell_ no.

His right arm holding him upright against his vehicle, Marshall drew his gun with his left, took aim and fired. The man spun as the bullet impacted with his left shoulder, throwing him backwards. Marshall kept firing, slowly moving around the front of the SUV. Both the assassins were retreating, moving back to the relative cover of their car.

He knelt, even as he kept firing to draw his backup gun from his boot.

They were back in their car. The man fired around the door frame.

He heard the SUV door slam. Mary had gotten out. "Marshall, take cover!"

He wasn't listening to her. Straightening up, he advanced towards the assassin's car, both guns blazing. Their windows were shattering. Mary's gunfire joined his, as the female assailant threw their car into reverse and peeled off. The partners kept firing until their attackers were out of sight.

Marshall slowly lowered his weapons to his sides. They were gone. Mary was alive. The tall lawman breathed a sigh of relief. "Well," he said, turning his head to look at his partner. She hadn't been harmed. An almost giddy wave of relief swept over him, coinciding with the spread of throbbing, agonizing pain. "That was..." He intended to say 'interesting', or something else that would put a light spin on their near death experience, but his attention was arrested by the black fog crowding around the edges of his vision.

He didn't get any farther before face-planting into the ground.

0-0-0-0

2003

0-0-0-0

Marshall leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes at his partner. She was ticked at him. It was obvious in the intent way she was ignoring his every attempt at communication. Geez, she reminded him of a petulant adolescent; sulking around the house until the adults grew sick of it and asked what was wrong. Well he wasn't going to play that game. He was _not_ going to ask what he had done to piss her off so royally. He wasn't.

Rising to his feet, he snagged his coffee mug and sauntered towards the pot. Green eyes fixed him with a baleful glare as he walked in front of her desk, but he ignored the potential threat. _Keep cool, Marshall. Hang tough. _His back was turned towards her now, but he could swear he could still feel the heat of her eyes. _Hang tough, hang tough hang tough..._

Footsteps sounded behind him, and Marshall stiffened slightly, sure that he was about to be assaulted. _Hang tough, hang tough, hang tough..._

Just as he reached for the coffee pot handle, his partner pushed her curvaceous self in between him and his caffeine fix. Marshall snatched his hand back just before it made contact with her jean clad derriere. He scowled at the back of her head as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She had planned that, he was certain. _Hang...tough..._

Mary slapped the coffee pot back into place and stalked her way back to her seat.

She had taken the last cup and left the pot empty on the burner.

_Hang tough, hang tough, hang tough..._

Marshall slammed his coffee cup down and whirled angrily. "What is wrong with you? !"_ Fail._

0-0-0-0

Mary looked up from her paperwork, eyes snapping. She had succeeded in provoking a reaction. To give the nerd credit, he had held out much longer than anyone else. "Interesting question," she said with a cold smile. "I thought you 'didn't actually want to know' what was screwed up with me."

Marshall's eyebrows drew together dangerously. Back stiff, he turned and began yanking coffee implements out of various drawers. "Recent events have led me to revise my previous conclusion,"

He said over his shoulder. Mary was pretty sure that he said it through clenched teeth. Her smile ratcheted up another notch. Right next to hunting down the scourges of society, keeping those around her at permanent arm's length was one of her favorite hobbies. This guy would be no different from the rest of humanity. Her jaw tightened even as she thought of it. No matter how sincere he seemed to be, guys like him always let you down. Promises were like soap bubbles to them. Very pretty, but easily broken and filled with nothing but the rancid breath of whoever happened to blow them into your face.

She would take delight in making him cry.

He would probably break faster than that damn physicist. "Would you like the short list, or the alphabetized one with footnotes?"

Marshall turned back around and leaned his weight against the counter. The bubble of the brewing coffee filled the sudden silence as her partner observed her shrewdly. To her surprise, he was not glaring. His gaze was intent, but not livid. "I would like whichever one has the reason why you're ready to nail me to the wall." He crossed his arms over his chest and tipped his head thoughtfully. "I don't recall having ever met you before we transported Henry and Claudia," pushing himself away from the counter, her partner closed the distance between himself and her desk slowly. "I didn't go out of my way to annoy you, which," he raised a finger "incidentally, is not my wont. I've been accused of having a puckish side."

Despite her ire, Mary almost felt her mouth tip with a real smile. "Wont?"

He ignored her, placing both hands on her desk and leaning forward slightly. "But now I have to wonder exactly what I have done..."

"Wont?"

"You can borrow my dictionary. Or _said_ to bring about this petulant, childish fit of the sulks." Bending over her desk, semi hovering over her, he somehow managed to not make the pose intimidating.

Mary scowled up at him. She didn't trust him. Shocker there, she didn't trust anyone, really. "What do you want, an apology?" Fat chance.

Marshall straightened, resting hands on hips. "I would settle for the bare minimum of professional respect and courtesy. You know, something below saluting but above open and venomous diatribes."

"How about if I salute while diatribing? Would that average everything out?"

Now _there_ was a glare.

"_Look_," Marshall's voice had returned to the clipped diction that denoted that the fuse on his temper was dangerously short. "Firstly, 'diatribing' is not a word. Secondly, I am not a mind reader. So unless you tell me what I did, or said, there's nothing I can do to fix it. Talk to me, and I promise..."

He abruptly stopped talking, blue eyes focusing on her intently. Mary suddenly had the uncomfortable sensation of being...understood.

She didn't like it.

0-0-0-0

Marshall knew that he had inadvertently stumbled upon the source of his partner's disdain the moment the words left his lips.

He had always been adept at reading body and facial language. Generally, women were harder to read than men. Surprise, surprise. It was part of their charm; one of those enigmatic quirks that kept men following after them, trying to ferret out their secrets. Mary, however, was in a class of her own. Most of the time, her face was set in a mocking cast that defied definition. Her lips would curl in a smile that was sharper than most swords; her laughter more painful than broken glass. Everything that was soft and comforting on someone else became harder and razor sharp on her. It was almost impossible for the layman to dig her true meaning out of the constant barrage of sarcastic wit flowing from her tongue.

Marshall was _not_ a layman. He possessed a quick mind, and a love of learning that turned him to the study of difficult subjects. He was learning now how to read his partner.

And her problem lay in the words, "I promise."

"Why don't you want me to promise you something?" his thumbs hooked into belt loops, eyes looking on Mary with a gaze akin to the one he turned on the frog he had to dissect in fifth grade.

She almost flinched. He had exposed a secret, and she didn't like it. Her green eyes glared at him a bit more ferociously than before. He was pushing into territory that was private. She obviously did not want him there, but he didn't care. Marshall glared back. He was closer to really losing his temper than he had been in a long time. If his partner was going to hate him, he wanted to be darn sure that he deserved it.

"Because promises are easy to make, and hard to keep, and I have yet to meet one person on this planet besides myself who takes them seriously." Mary pushed her chair back and rose to her feet, fists planted on hips. "I deal with liars, thieves, murderers and assholes all day long, all of whom _promised_ someone something at sometime in their lives and then didn't follow through."

She said the word promised like it was a foul taste on her tongue. Marshall sensed that there was something underneath the anger that was driving her speech. Pain. A lot of it.

Mary was coming around her desk, getting up into his face. Or as near as she could get to it. She was actually fairly short. He wondered why he hadn't noticed that before. Probably because her personality was larger than life.

"Think about it! Saying the words 'I promise' anymore is synonymous with 'screw you.'"

Marshall's eyes narrowed. "I find your sweeping generalization of society to be one of the most cynical and bitter things I've ever heard." He held up a hand to stop her before she could bulldoze ahead. "I also think that you should deal with your own issues before taking umbrage over phrases your partner uses." That shaft had sunk in; he could see it in her eyes. "Furthermore, you couldn't be more off the mark."

He turned and stalked back to the coffee pot. "I don't know what sort of people you're used to dealing with, but where I come from promises mean something." The coffee flowed into his mug, hot and bitter. Kind of like his new partner. What a coincidence.

"The people I'm used to dealing with?" Her voice was low and deadly. He turned to see her slowly stepping towards him. His mind flew to a special on animal planet he had watched recently. A documentary on lions, and the predatory ferocity of the females in particular. Marshall mentally juxtaposed the clip of a lioness stalking helpless deer over his partner. Yep. It was a match.

"Let me tell you about the people _I'm_ used to dealing with," she said tightly. "I'm used to dealing with mob members who swear familial loyalty one instant and flip on their friends the next." Her sarcastic smile was slipping. "Couples who swore to be true to one another, only to sleep with someone else on their honeymoon. Families that made the promise 'till death do us part' and decided after ten, fifteen, twenty years, that it was just too hard so they wouldn't keep their promise after all. Convicts who by all rights should be rotting in a cell but aren't _because_ they broke their word not to squeal to the authorities. Fathers who promise their kids they will _always _be there only to leave one night and never..."

To Marshall's astonishment, she cut off her words abruptly. Her face was stone still, no hint of emotion, but he could see the glitter of tears in her eyes. She was good at hiding it. If he wasn't scrutinizing her so closely, he would probably miss the unshed droplets.

"Those are the people I'm used to dealing with," she said finally, voice low and intense. He had to give her credit. There was no waiver in her tone, no hitch in her breathing. She had accidentally uncovered something that obviously caused her pain, but was taking extra care not to let it happen again. "So when you tell that beaten and bruised woman that you _promise_ to help her, it galls me. She's hurt and desperate, and she needs action, not words."

As his partner spun on her booted heel and stomped back to her desk, Marshall saw her raise her hand as though to flick her hair back. Her thumb swiped surreptitiously beneath her eyelid.

He sighed. He had been right. Pain. A lot of it. For good reason. And she didn't know him yet, so she had no idea how far he would go to keep any promise he made. His word was important to him. Marshall had been taught from a very young age (repeatedly) that everything mattered. His words, perhaps most of all. Especially when those words were given in some kind of vow.

The lanky inspector dug into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. Normally, with a crying female, he would offer a hug. A shoulder to weep upon. Kind, sweet words of comfort.

He had the distinct impression that if he did any of these things with Mary, she would hurt him. She did not want attention drawn to the fact that she was human, with deep sorrow lurking behind the shell of biting witticisms. She would probably like it best if he left her alone and went about his business.

Ignoring people in distress went against his grain. Marshall was incapable of abandoning anyone who so obviously needed help. White knight complex, through and through.

The idea of Mary being a damsel in distress almost made him snort, but he manfully suppressed his laughter.

Walking up to her desk, he laid the handkerchief on the corner and moved away.

0-0-0-0

Mary turned her back on her partner, biting her lip. The tears she didn't want to be there were filling up her eyes, making the trip back to her desk blurry. She hadn't meant to say that about fathers. Hadn't meant to reveal that part of herself. A tear escaped her lid and tried to make a break for it down her cheek. Under the pretense of flicking her hair over her shoulder, she ran a thumb over her skin, collecting the traitorous droplet.

She would _not_ cry in front of him. She _would not_.

She hadn't cried in front of anyone else since she was seventeen. And she would be damned if she started now. Crying was for the weak; the spineless. For the same kind of people who drank herbal tea and listened to recorded whale song.

Slumping into her seat, she drew in a deep breath. _Get it together._

He was approaching her desk. Damn it. He probably had noticed and was now going to be all sappy and sweet. Blech. What if he tried to hug her? Offer her a shoulder to cry on? Mumble meaningless, kind, pretty words of comfort?

She would have to hurt him.

Mary groaned inwardly as her tall partner stepped up to her desk. Maybe if she ignored him he would go away...it never worked with Brandi or Jinx, but hey, she could dream.

Marshall set something down and walked away without a word.

Surprised, Mary looked up. He was settling himself at his own desk, not even looking her way. It suddenly dawned on her that he knew she did not want to be fussed over, and was respecting that. Her throat closed tightly, bringing fresh tears to swell the old. _Do _not _cry_! Leaning forward, she picked up the object he had placed on her desk.

It was a handkerchief.

Not a tissue, an honest to God, old-fashioned, made from cloth handkerchief. _Seriously? _!

The tears suddenly dissolved as a giggle forced its way up her throat.

0-0-0-0

The giggle was probably the last thing he expected to hear. Looking up from his computer in surprise, Marshall saw his new partner staring at his handkerchief. Amusement was written across her features. She looked over to him, wicked glee giving her an impish expression. "What is this? !"

"A handkerchief," he replied, nonplussed. Did she really not know? "They actually have a history of several thousand years. In ancient Rome, they were waved during the games as a sign of favor, encouraging mercy for the gladiator of the crowd's choice..."

"I know _what_ it is, numbnuts," she interrupted. For once, however, her insult sounded more like a term of endearment than nasty. "What are _you_ doing with one? Are you secretly eighty-five years old? Have three grandkids that come see you on Sundays at the retirement home?"

"We play golf," he said dryly. "You know, there was a time when the handkerchief was not only an expensive accessory, it was a symbol of wealth..."

"I'll bet you anything it wasn't a time within the past hundred years."

"...and handkerchiefs used to be all sorts of shapes..."

"Is it sad to you that you know this? Because it's sad to me."

"...it actually took the edict of King Ludwig the XIV to determine that the length of a handkerchief should be equal to its width..."

Mary was smiling now. A real smile. It was a much softer smile than the one she normally wore. All the sarcastic edges were filed away, and that small piece of humanity was glimmering through. "Wonderful. I'm partnered with a grandpa/jeopardy episode hybrid."

He felt his face creasing into a grin. The tension that had been filling the office had snapped. He was sure that it would be back at some point in time, but he might as well enjoy the moment. "You're just jealous."

**There you are. Hope you all enjoy! Please review! Next chapter should be up by Wed at the latest. Oh, and did I mention I love reviews? I really, really do. I'm not above begging for them. :)**


	3. Wounds and Words

**Greetings everyone. I am back, before Wed as I promised. :) Yay for posting on time. Anyhoo, another well of gratitude from me to everyone who took the time to review. Really, very very awesome words of encouragement there. Gives me all sorts of warm fuzzies. :) **

**This chapter is a bit long, hopefully nobody minds that. ;) A touch heavy on the Trojan Horst side of things, but the next couple chapters will be more dealing with the past so it will all even out, I promise.**

**I think that's all I got for right now, thanks again for the reviews, and enjoy the chapter!**

0-0-0-0

Present Day

0-0-0-0

Mary tried the handle of the abandoned gas station and swore under her breath. "Stand by yourself for a second?" she asked, looking up into his face. Her partner nodded. He was running short on breath, and didn't want to waste words. Mary's expression was worried. He could read her concern through the sweat soaked strands of hair hanging around her face. Gently, she unwound Marshall's arm from around her shoulder and settled him against the side of the building.

Marshall leaned his weight against the cinder blocks a bit more heavily than normal. His breath was coming in short wheezes; like his lungs couldn't expand. They couldn't, he knew. Air was entering his chest cavity through the bullet wound and building pressure. Too much pressure and he wouldn't be able to breathe at all. He was going to need that tube very soon.

Pulling her gun, Mary sent two rounds through the wood surrounding the lock. Timber splintered, and with a wrench, she pulled it open.

The blond marshal seized Horst and pushed him in first before turning back to her partner. She could be so tough, so unbending. Yet her capable hands were gentle as she took hold of his arm and pulled his weight onto her shoulders. Marshall wished he didn't have to lean on her quite so heavily. She was already dewed with perspiration from helping him make their way from the SUV. Now his weight was almost bending her double as they moved inside. He had the brief impression of dust, lots of it, coating every surface of the abandoned facility. It was cooler than outside, but the air was still; stifling really.

"Oh, oh yeah, this place is going to do wonders for my allergies, thanks." Horst's snide voice registered, and Marshall wished he felt better. He would like to have said something snarky and funny that would make Mary smile, but his concentration was absorbed with breathing at the moment. It was getting harder. Besides, as Mary lowered him onto the old couch, he had to admit that their witness had a point. His bulk caused dust to rise from the faded and tattered cushions, and his lungs wheezed anew with their effort to draw air to his body and brain.

"You." Mary's voice was menacing as she stepped back from her partner and approached Horst. Seizing his elbow, she pulled him to the bar. Marshall grinned inwardly at the way she completely disregarded his whiny sniveling. The blond marshal relieved Horst of the duffel bag before shoving him up against the counter and pulling one of the stools out of her way.

"There are gonna be lawsuits aplenty," Horst threatened, "trust me on that one."

Mary quickly closed his shackle around the post there. Green eyes glared at their witness briefly. "Shut up."

Marshall adjusted his grip on the bloodstained shirt he held to his wound. _Terseness, thy middle name should have been Mary. _His mind was starting to misfire with random thoughts. Never a good sign.

His partner hoisted the duffel bag and returned to his side. "How we doing?" She bent over him, blond hair swinging around her face.

"Tension Pneumothorax," he mumbled. The air inside his chest was making it impossible for his lungs to expand. He couldn't breathe.

"That's funny," Mary tried to keep her voice light, but he could tell that his sudden lack of verboseness worried her. "I was just gonna say that."

He knew what needed to happen. She needed access to the wound. "Tube..." he caught hold of his lapel and jerked, thankful he had worn the shirt with the snapped buttons. "...thoracostomy..."

"Marshall," Mary's voice was tense, but sounded as though she were trying to remain calm. "If I'm going to help you, you need to speak English."

She didn't know what he was talking about. He had to walk her through it slowly. The lanky lawman didn't know if he had enough air for that. There were already bright lights starting to flash around the edges of his vision. "Get the tube from the car."

"Right," she turned to the bag, hands moving quickly, almost frantically. "Right." she pulled the tube out, holding it up so he could see it. "Okay, okay, now what?

He wanted to tell her she needed to use the tube to relieve the pressure. He wanted to tell her to calm down. Everything was going to be okay. There were a lot of things he wanted to tell her, but he couldn't because his body had been telling_ him_ for the past ten minutes that it wasn't getting enough oxygen, and without his permission, suddenly shut down.

As he felt his head fall back against the couch, the last thing he heard was Mary's voice calling his name, and begging for him to wake up.

0-0-0-0

Bright lights and flashing colors. A maelstrom of meaningless gibberish passing before his eyes, and at the center of the chaos: her. Mary. The rock in the midst of a storm. His beautiful, wild, tender, cruel partner. His friend. She was smiling, and it was the real smile. He probably saw that smile more than any other person living, and he still didn't see it enough. Most of her life was spent with the mask firmly in place.

No, not a mask. A shell. A case. The crisp candy coating that hid the sweet center. Except her candy coating was ten feet thick and made from cement with glass shard studding. It took the patience of Mother Theresa and the indomitable will of Napoleon to crack through that case, and most people didn't bother. He had. He had made it to the soft vein running through the cement.

And it had changed him. His life was almost inextricably wrapped around Mary. Almost. He wasn't sure if that's what he wanted, because he wasn't sure that hers would ever be wrapped around him. He knew that he would lay down everything for his partner if she would ask.

But she wouldn't ask. He could look out for her, and guard her (and guard others from her) and she would never request his help once. It led him to believe that she was not as dependent on him as he was becoming on her. He was addicted to the venomous, cantankerous, acidic high that was Mary Shannon. Like any addict, he kept coming back for another fix. Not that he didn't give as good as he got, because he did. It was one of the highlights of his life to get a rise out of his pretty partner, and sometimes it was so easy. Like regaling her with the 'discovery' of crinoline.

He had the feeling that she could take life with or without him. Perhaps it was time to break out of his habit. What was the only way to break an addiction? Remove yourself from that which you are addicted to.

But he couldn't turn away from her. She was sauntering towards him, the real smile on her lips. Her face tilted up towards him and he tried to force himself to walk away. He couldn't. One of her hands came up to the back of his head, one rested on his shoulder. His heart was pounding. With a suddenness that surprised him, she pushed herself upwards, putting her lips on his. Except it wasn't exactly a kiss. Her hands were strong, firm; her mouth against his hard, and yet this wasn't passionate...

She was exhaling into his mouth, and he could feel himself breathing in her scent, breathing with her, his lungs responding to a pressure that wasn't his own...

0-0-0-0

Marshall woke with a choking cough, his lungs resuming their own rhythm. Mary pulled her mouth away from his and patted at his face and neck, making sure that he stayed conscious. "Marshall, Marshall!" He could hear the relief in her voice, but he knew that he wasn't quite out of danger yet. She had force fed him oxygen, but they needed to fix the underlying problem or he was going to pass out again.

"Insert tube through bullet wound..." he managed to gasp, "second intercostal..." he was already running out of air.

Mary stared at him, her eyebrows drawing together in consternation. "What ? !"

Procedures for dummies it was. He would have to remember to tell her that sometime when he wasn't about to die. "Put the tube in the hole!" Marshall allowed his head to fall back against the couch. It was suddenly too much effort to hold it upright and breathe at the same time.

"Okay," she pulled her hands away from him and seized the tube. "Okay, okay...I hope you know what you're doing..."

Him too.

Mary pulled back the right side of his shirt, exposing his wound. With a slight grimace, she took the end of the tube and quickly shoved it into the hole. To her credit, she only flinched slightly at the sucking, squelching sound before jerking his shirt back into place.

He could hear the hissing as soon as the tube was in place. It was working. More importantly, it was suddenly easier to breath. Marshall raised his head, and took a deep breath. His partner was staring in amazement at the end of the tube in her hands, listening to the hiss of escaping air.

"Oh," she said, in a slightly stunned tone of voice. "I'll be damned!"

"Better," he concurred, finding speech much easier now that he could breathe again. "Hand me a half empty water bottle." As he spoke he took the tube from his partner.

"Okay," she tore into the duffel once more, movements quick and agitated. He could tell she was still half-expecting him to pass out and die. Seizing one of the bottles she had bought at the gas station, she dumped roughly half of the fluid onto the ground and placed it in his hand. "Here you go."

Marshall inserted the end of the tube into the bottle. Bubbles immediately started boiling towards the surface, and he drew in another deep breath. It was working.

Mary was staring, her eyebrows drawn together, jaw slack with wonder. "Amazing..."

"It's a water seal," Marshall explained. Holding the bottle in his right hand, he motioned to it with his left. "Gravity and hydraulic pressure allow the air in the pleural space," he motioned to his chest, "to escape, but not to go back in." Now she was staring at him with that same slack-jawed look of wonder. He shrugged, and managed not to grin like an idiot. "What?" He even kept his voice innocent, as though to say, 'doesn't everyone know what a water seal is and how it works?'

Her lips came together and managed to quirk a smile. "Have I told you that sometimes, not very often, but _sometimes_ I'm really glad you're a walking Jeopardy episode?"

Her body was relaxing, some of the tension leaving her shoulders and spine. Placing her hands on her knees, Mary allowed her head to drop forward with a suddenness that alarmed him. "Mary?" He tried to push himself up off the couch, but one of her hands immediately rose to press him back. She looked up, and the expression on her face stopped him in his mental tracks. She was vastly relieved.

"Sit still, doofus." Her voice still had some snap, but he knew her well enough to recognize that there was no malice behind it. "If you pull that tube out, I am not putting it back in. Once a day is my limit for sticking things into holes in my partner's body."

There was a moment of silence before she wrinkled her nose. "That came out much dirtier than it should have."

"Little bit, yeah."

She shrugged, then turned back to the duffel back and pawed through it until she unearthed the first aid kit. "Take off your shirt."

"I wish I had a nickel for every time..."

"With God as my witness I will punch you if you finish that sentence." Mary set the kit onto the couch beside him before helping him ease his right arm out of his shirt. Though her movements were quick and efficient, her touch was gentle, almost tender. "I don't think you're going to be able to salvage this," she remarked, wiggling a finger through the bloody hole in the material.

"And it was one of my favorites," he sighed.

"Fortunately Goodwill is still running a sale on used cowboy goods this weekend." She pulled him forward slightly, allowing her to slide his shirt off his left arm. "You might even be able to pick up a new pair of boots and a tasteless belt buckle."

"Tell me," he said as he leaned back against the couch with a wince. "Is there a day that goes by in which you do not think up new derogatory things to say about my apparel?"

The blond marshal pulled gauze and tape out of the kit as she considered her response. "Last Tuesday, I think. Oh wait, there was that comment I made to Stan about how all you were missing was the ten gallon hat and the ukelele."

He watched her tape the bandage over his bullet wound. Fortunately it wasn't bleeding heavily. His blue eyes observed her through half closed lids. Blond hair straggling into her face, eyebrows drawn together tightly in concentration. She was wearing a black hair tie around her wrist, but hadn't stopped fussing over him long enough to use it. "Actually, I believe you're thinking of a guitar as the standard 'cowboy' instrument. The ukelele is more indigenous to island living."

"Indigenous? Marshall, it's an instrument, not a flock of swallows." Mary took a step back and surveyed her handiwork. "How's that feel?"

_Like I've been shot. _"Excellent. Also, the ukelele has a fascinating history..."

"Please shut your hole, or I will rip out your tube and smile while you asphyxiate." Her words were harsh, but even as she spoke them she was folding her discarded button down shirt and using it to gently sponge sweat from his face.

"It has never ceased to amaze me that you chose not to enter the nursing profession," Marshall said wryly. If he kept talking, he could semi-ignore the throbbing pain that was spreading from his shoulder throughout the rest of his body.

Mary snorted as she put down her shirt and packed the first aid kit back into the duffel bag. "Are you kidding me?" She quirked her eyebrows at him in a manner he had always secretly found endearing, even as it signaled the beginning of a rant. In the interests of research, he had discovered that the angle her eyebrows tilted to corresponded to the length of her diatribes. Steep tilt; long rant. This one wouldn't be too bad. Probably only a couple sentences or so.

"Whiny, sniveling patients with God only knows what dripping out of every orifice. Long hours, bad pay, bending over backward for people you despise and would probably gladly see dead if you weren't focused on preserving their health." She paused for a moment as she straightened up, dragging both hands through the sweat tangled locks of hair hanging around her face and pulling them back into a rough pony tail. "It would be just like being a marshal except I wouldn't get to carry a gun."

He actually chuckled, but it turned into a cough quickly. The jolting made his wound throb anew. Mary had turned away to check if the door was secured, and she missed the wince that creased his face for a moment.

Marshall stared at her back, frowning. The white tank top she had worn under her professional button-down was already grimed with dust and sweat. He could see the moisture seeping through the material; making the shirt stick to her back. She needed to leave. She needed to get out of here, right now. This place was some shelter from the sun, but the moment the assassins returned it would turn into a death trap, for all of them.

She couldn't afford to wait for him. Marshall swore under his breath in frustration. It had been an effort to get him as far as this building. Mary was a strong woman, but she had her limits. She wouldn't want anyone to believe that, but he knew the truth. By the time they had reached the gas station she had been almost bent double trying to support his weight. Blood loss and trauma to his system had made him weak. He couldn't walk on his own, and she certainly wasn't going to get far carrying him through the desert. At the same time, he could only imagine what her response would be if he told her she needed to get out; save herself.

He would be lucky if she didn't slap him. Mary never did take well to what she perceived as other people's attempts to 'rescue' her. Worst damsel in distress _ever_. No, if he was going to get her out, he had to make her believe that it was in the best interests of her job.

"You should go," he said decisively.

"You should shut up," Mary snapped, as she turned back towards him from the door. Her eyes were glaring, fierce. Angry that he would even suggest that she abandon him and save herself. "I'm not leaving you and a witness like sitting ducks." As she spoke, she crossed the room and began to dig through the duffel.

Marshall reached across himself with his left hand and seized her arm, snagging her attention. She looked up in surprise, but he did not release her. He wanted to be sure that he had her focus on him. Blue eyes swung to Horst for a second, then back to her questioning gaze. "Take him with you. It's only a couple of miles to the highway." And ever second she stayed here increased the chances that she would be killed.

Mary snorted in dismissal. "It's not gonna happen," she was already breaking eye contact, turning him down without a second thought. "Forget it."

He tightened his grip, bringing her back to face him. "Come on," he raised his eyebrows and looked her in the eye. "You know it's the right call." his last word broke off as a cough shook him. Marshall tightened his jaw, trying not to let it show how much that cough hurt. If Mary thought that he was in real pain, he might not be able to convince her to leave.

Her face remained impassive, but she had some of the most expressive eyes he had ever seen. Concern was written there in large letters as she looked at him. Marshall could see her will crumble for once. She _did_ know that it was the right call. It was the only thing that could have gotten her to leave him. And he took some comfort in that.

She glanced sideways at Horst for a second before turning back to her partner. "I can go a lot faster without him," she said softly, almost under her breath. She was thinking of him. Thinking that if she got out faster, she could get help to him faster. It was true, but he _was _also thinking of their job.

"Hey," Horst called across the room. "You! No secrets!"

Neither partner paid him any heed.

"You can't leave him with me," Marshall said between set teeth. "I can't protect him." It cost him to say the words, but he would do just about anything to get her out.

Mary's face was still, immobile. She and Marshall turned their heads toward Horst at the same time, observing him as they would any other problem. Something to be parsed out, planned out, and overcome. Together.

For the first time, he appeared unnerved. "Wh..why you lookin' at me like that?" The way he held his manacled hands close to his chest reminded Marshall of a nervous chipmunk.

Mary sighed, and turned her face back towards him. He knew that she had decided to leave before she spoke another word. He had felt the tension in her arm change. Instead of trying to pull away from him, she was still. Her eyes found his, and the look in them was...he didn't quite know what. He had never seen it there before.

"You better not die," she said quietly. No dramatic confessions. No heart wrenching dialogue.

"I will try not to die," he responded. "For you."

He didn't tell her that he promised not to die. Marshall knew that she still didn't like the phrase, but that wasn't the only reason he didn't say the words.

He didn't tell Mary that he promised, because she knew that if he made a promise he would never break it.

And he wasn't entirely sure that this was one he could keep.

0-0-0-0

2003

0-0-0-0

It was an auspicious day. Mary leaned back into her chair and placed her boots on her desk, crossing her ankles. Her long fingers wove together over her stomach as she gazed contemplatively at the ceiling. Auspicious. Now there was a word that probably wouldn't have been in her vocabulary three months and two weeks ago. Further signs that this was indeed a day worth taking note of.

Today, she had a partner.

The _same_ partner that she had three months and two weeks ago.

Now who would have figured that?

At the end of this day, when she went home, Marshall Mann would be the partner who had officially (and unofficially) stayed with her the longest. More surprising, there was none of the tension she had felt in previous partnerships. The sidelong glances, uncomfortable whispers, screamed curses...none of those subtle hints that suggested the partnership was on a downward spiral into the crapper.

She verbally lambasted him on a daily basis. Instead of responding with a hissy fit, a sulk or reporting her, he drew mental steel. Marshall possessed a dry sense of humor that was the equal to her vitriol. He could hold his own, and gain ground. The only time she could claim any real advantage was when he went off on one of his discourses about a subject that no person should know that much about. Like the history of the handkerchief. Honestly.

She knew how many brothers he had.

He knew that she hated time travel movies. It didn't stop him from talking about them.

She could tell when he hadn't gotten enough sleep. Those were the days when she could really take advantage in their arguments, because he was too tired to think quickly.

He knew what her favorite song was, and which radio stations she couldn't stand to listen to without going off on a rant against the idiotic talk show host. Sometimes he left his car radio on that station on purpose, but he never touched the knob when her favorite song was playing.

She still hadn't figured out the cowboy boots.

Mary lowered her feet to the floor and stood, stretching. It was dark out. The city lights twinkled like grounded stars. Late night again. Her green eyes strayed to the desk of her partner.

There he was. The man semi-responsible for her sudden career shift to WitSec. He could arguably be called the reason she was here in Albuquerque. Working for Stan. Working with him. Sitting at her desk with words like 'auspicious' wandering through her head of their own accord.

All in all, she was fairly pleased with her life at the moment. Albuquerque wasn't the hell on earth she had originally supposed it to be. Working under Stan had caused her to realize that she had found the pot of gold hidden by U.S. Marshal leprechauns; namely, a boss that was competent and willing to fight for the welfare of his marshals. She had a decent apartment and a partner who was in the process of becoming...what? A friend?

Mary frowned at Marshall's bent head. She hadn't had a friend in...too long. Way, way too long. She wasn't sure she wanted one anymore. Besides, friendship, trust and respect went together. Did she trust Marshall? Maybe. Respect him? Maybe. Was she friends with him? Not yet.

Not a friend then. But a good partner. As partners went. With everything that was going right it was almost time for something to go horribly pear-shaped. Watch, Jinx would move to Albuquerque and want to live with her.

Mary shuddered and berated herself for thinking something so horrible.

"Wool gathering?"

Marshall's voice brought her back to reality with a slight bump. "You could say that."

He was leaning around his computer so he could face her. "Something on your mind?"

He was doing that...thing...again. Asking her what she was thinking. Inviting her to share part of herself.

As a general rule, Mary didn't like to share. Anything. Food, drink, time, money...most especially, she did not like to share herself. Although chocolate took a close second place. She shrugged noncommittally.

"Speak to your partner," Marshall intoned in what she had termed his 'sage' voice. "I have wisdom of the world. You should talk to me."

"That was oddly rhythmic," she said suspiciously.

Marshall shrugged and took a sip from his coffee mug. Her eyes narrowed. To the casual observer, his face was placid; innocent. To her, she could see that...grin...fighting to break out through the twinkle of his eyes. She thought for a moment on what he had just said.

Considered. Counted. He wouldn't.

She counted again.

He _would_! That sick bastard. Mary stared at him in a mixture of horror and wonder. "That was a haiku! A freaky little partner _haiku_!" She shook her head in disbelief. "You're _twisted._"

"Like a slinky," he readily concurred. The grin was out now, all over his face. "You're the one who recognized it." she could hear his laughter coming through his voice. He put down his coffee mug, grin dying down to a pleasant smile. "Seriously though. Anything you want to talk about?"

"Not with someone who composes haiku," she snorted.

For a second, she thought she saw a flash of disappointment in his eyes before he turned back to his computer screen.

A strange impulse gripped her; one she had never felt before becoming partners with Marshall.

She wanted to tell him what was going through her head.

She wanted to take him up on his offer to share a part of herself and tell him about her thoughts concerning their partnership, and her life, and how he was to blame for the word 'auspicious' bouncing around inside her cranium.

She wanted to confide her fears about Jinx and Brandi, and how they would never pull their lives together.

She wanted to tell him about her dad.

Mary actually opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She couldn't force herself to make a sound. The blond marshal slowly clamped her lips together and sighed. Maybe another time.

Maybe she would actually get to the place where she felt like she could talk to him before she drove him off.

Reaching under her desk, Mary grabbed her bag and pulled the strap over her shoulder. Time to go home. Tomorrow was another day.

0-0-0-0

As Mary bent under her desk, Marshall's cell buzzed. The lanky inspector took a quick look at the caller ID.

He froze, eyes widening.

Marie Andrews.

As Mary walked past his desk, he flipped the phone open. "Marie? What is it? Are you all right?"

"Marshall," Marie's voice sounded tiny and hushed through the phone's speaker, like she was trying to whisper. "I...I don't know what to do..."

"Tell me what's wrong," he said persuasively, even as he began to rise to his feet, reaching for his jacket. "Do you need help?"

Mary had already gone through the gate and was standing by the elevator. Her thumb was punching the button. As though hitting it more times would bring the car faster.

"It's Dominic," came the whisper, anguished.

Marshall could feel his heart starting to beat faster. He forced his voice to stay level. "Has he hit you again?"

"No, Marshall, that's not it!"

"Okay, then tell me what the problem is." He felt some relief at her words, but not much. She had lied about Dominic hitting her before.

"Do you remember what you said to me the last time I saw you?" Her voice was urgent. Desperate.

"Of course. I promised to come and help you if you needed it." _Please, oh please, oh please..._

"Dominic's in trouble! I think he's dealing again with those crooks from that horrible dive on Maple ridge!"

"Wait...what?" _Please do not be asking what I think you're about to be asking._

"Marshall, I need your help. You need to come and stop him. If he gets caught, he'll get kicked out of the program and he'll be killed." Marie sounded like she was near tears.

"You...need me to come and help...Dominic." Just saying the words left a very bitter taste in his mouth.

"Yes!" She was thrilled that he had caught on so quickly. He could hear the relief in her voice.

"Marie, could you hold on for one second?"

0-0-0-0

Mary's thumb beat a tattoo on the elevator button. In her head, she knew that it wouldn't come any faster with repeated punching, but something about it just felt right.

Her partner's voice was a low murmur behind her, one that she was shutting out at the moment. The blond woman leaned forward, head resting on the wall. She was tired. It had been a long day. There was something about dealing with witnesses that left her emotionally drained.

"Of course," Marshall's voice cut through the fog that she was trying to sink into. "I promised to come and help you if you needed it."

Huh. Could it be? Was that woman really calling for help? And would he really give it? It was true, he had promised, but that had been several months ago, and it was late. Quite late. If she was tired, he had to be tired too. Would he put her off till tomorrow, or would he keep his word?

"Wait...what?" A new level of tension seeped through Marshall's normally calm voice. Mary felt her own, much more volatile temper start to stir. If he was _that_ surprised, then whatever happened wasn't good. Maybe she should stay and offer her assistance.

"You...need me to come and help...Dominic." It sounded like the words had been dragged out of him on the rack, and she couldn't blame him. Mary closed her eyes for a moment. _What the __**hell**__! ?_ For a moment, she wondered if Marie was insane.

"Marie, could you hold on for one second?"

Mary sighed. She should offer help. She should. Turning around, Mary faced the office and got a clear view of her partner sitting at his desk.

Holding his cell phone out at arm's length.

Apparently trying to silently strangle it.

She bit her lip to hold back her laughter even as she stepped towards the gate. He was going to say forget it. She knew that he was. Somewhere inside of her she was disappointed. The blond marshal swiped her card and pushed the gate open as her gangly partner pulled his phone back to his ear. There was no way he was going to keep this promise. It would be ridiculous. Hell, even she wouldn't blame him for not seeing this through.

Well...maybe she would. Secretly.

"Marie," he said in a measured, careful tone.

Here it came. What would the excuse be? It's too late? I'm too tired? Your husband needs to rot at the bottom of a river?

"I'm on my way. Stay at your house, I'll be there as soon as I can." Marshall closed the cell phone and tucked it into his pocket.

0-0-0-0

"I'll be there as soon as I can." _With a baseball bat. It's the only kind of help Dominic is going to understand._ Snapping the phone shut, Marshall slid it into his jacket pocket. Talk about a lousy way to end a day. Anything else the universe would like to throw at him? How about a flat tire in the middle of the desert?

He turned, only to almost crash into his partner. Mary was standing directly in front of him, her jaw agape. Staring. She made no effort to move out of his way, and he was forced to take a hasty step back, which almost caused him to overbalance and trip over his own chair. He caught himself just in time. "Something I can do for you?" His tone was slightly irate, but in his defense, he had almost made a most undignified descent to the floor.

His partner just stared at him.

Marshall's irritation ebbed slightly. He didn't know what it was, but there was something that was suddenly different in the way she was looking at him. Like some of the sharp edges had been removed. Her mouth slowly tipped into a smile, and he found himself taking his turn at staring; eyebrows soaring upwards.

"Want some company?" she offered.

No smacks about how his witness was stupid? No long-winded diatribe about women who allowed themselves to be abused? One brow rose higher than other. "Are you...feeling okay?" _Are you sober?_

"Never better." she jerked a thumb toward the elevator. "Come on. Hand-holding time."

He continued to stare as she turned away from him. All of a sudden she was walking with almost a _bounce_ in her step.

He found it oddly out of character. Kind of unsettling.

Holding the gate open, Mary looked back over her shoulder. "Coming? I'm not about to go do your coddling for you."

Marshall shook himself mentally. Go with it. "I've got the tissues."

Mary pushed the elevator button, and before she could resume her previous drum solo, the door slid open. The partners entered in silence. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She seemed...cheerful? The perverse quirk in his nature flickered to life. Maybe he would test this new good mood.

"So have I ever gone over the history and foundations of the 'haiku' and it's correlations to the structure of society?"

"No, but now would be a very bad time. How does three weeks after never sound?"

"That's not gonna work for me, I play bridge then."

The elevator door started to slide shut.

"The physics and engineering necessary to design a slinky?"

"Holy crap, I hate you."

0-0-0-0

**Okee dokee, the next chapter should be up before Sat. Probably going to be another longer one. I hope. Where my muse leads, I follow. She generally tends to lead me into angst and hopeless emotional torment for my characters, but I always fix what I break. ;) Hope you all enjoyed the chapter! I loooooooooooooooooooove me some reviews!**


	4. The Exotic Animal

**Okay, first off, allow me to apologize. I am very sorry that I am posting this a day late. :( I'll try not to let it happen again. Busy weekend...brain killing work...blah blah blah...the normal bad excuses. Sorry! For the bad excuses AND being late...**

**Anyhoo, thanks all sooooo much for the lovely, lovely reviews. I'm loving them. **

**Enjoy the chapter!**

0-0-0-0

Present Day

0-0-0-0

"Hey, how you doin'? You hangin' in?" Mary came around the end of the couch and crouched beside him, sponging his face with her shirt.

"Aces," the lanky inspector grunted. _About as well as can be expected, given the circumstances._

"Listen," Mary lowered her voice so that Horst couldn't hear her. "They used some kind of GPS to find us. I saw her use it." Her mobile features drew together in contemplation. Tendrils of sweat dampened hair curled around her face. She looked miserably hot, and dirty, yet somehow completely focused on their present situation. "How's that possible?"

"I dunno," Marshall could feel his own brow crease. His mind wasn't working. The neurons were firing sluggishly. "But its kinda academic at this point." Normally he loved academic. Right at this moment, it was all he could do to focus on staying conscious.

"Maybe." He could almost see the wheels in her head spinning behind the green eyes. She might be facing him, but her mind was a million miles away. Blowing out her breath with a 'whoosh', the blond marshal settled herself beside her partner. She drew her knees up to her chest and clasped her arms around them loosely. Her face was turned towards the door, and he could feel the tense alertness in her body. "It'll be dark soon." She was thinking of the battle to come. Knowing that both of them were probably going to die very shortly.

He wanted her out. Gone. Away from the danger. Anywhere but here. "You should try to get out then," he said quietly. If he tried to be forceful in his position that she should leave, it would only increase her will to stay. _Mary, Mary, quite contrary..._ the old nursery rhyme began to singsong through his thoughts. Marshall gave himself a mental shake. _Focus...mortal peril, here._

"Yeah, we'll see."

Her words said she was considering it. Her eyes...well, he didn't know what her eyes were saying because she wasn't facing him, but he would be willing to bet that it was something along the lines of uproarious, mocking laughter coupled with an obscene hand gesture.

"Seriously," he tried again. He really couldn't express to her how much he did not want her here. "It's gonna get ugly." He managed to keep his tone from being too pressing, even though he wanted to yell at her to run.

"Look, it's a defendable position." The look she shot at him told him to drop the subject. So fierce.

A short cough managed to escape him. Marshall managed to keep from wincing, but it was an effort. Mary's expression changed from fierce to concerned, then quickly slid into something he didn't have a chance to identify before she looked down at the dirty floor, apparently examining the toe of her shoe. "So how come you didn't tell me?" Her green eyes came up to his face at the last word. Her expression wasn't hard, wasn't biting. The smile he hated so much was nowhere to be seen.

She was easier to talk to like this.

"Because," He needed to find a way to explain his actions clearly, so that she understood exactly what he had been thinking. He might not get another chance. "I needed to make up my own mind. And that's..." he paused, trying to find a way to say the truth without sounding harsh. "...not always an option with you." Mary's eyes flashed briefly, taken aback by his statement. It almost looked like she would interrupt him, but he continued on. "You know how you are." _Please be honest with yourself. You know I'm right._

Her mouth closed as she looked forward, suddenly avoiding his eyes. She did know how she was. "I thought you loved this job," she said with a shrug and just a hint of the sarcastic, biting smile. It was a half-hearted attempt at best, only pulling up one side of her mouth.

"I did," he opened his mouth before he thought and kicked himself at his use of past tense. "I _do._" _Nothing like a little pessimism there, Marshall. How about you read her your last will and testament too?_

"Well what then?" Her eyes suddenly came back to his. Fierce.

Desperate. _That_ surprised him perhaps more than anything else.

"Tell me!" There was something else there. A fear... "Am _I_ the reason you wanna go?" The corners of her lips were twitching into the smile again, as if to say that the idea was ridiculous, but she wouldn't have asked if she didn't think it was a possibility. "Because of how I am?"

She wanted to be reassured that this had nothing to do with her. That she hadn't driven away another person whom she cared for, and who she had allowed herself to become close to.

"No," he said carefully. He couldn't lie to her, tell her that she wasn't a part of it, but he did want to assure his pretty partner that the reasons she supposed were not accurate. "It has more to do with how _I_ am."

Mary swore under her breath, rolling her eyes in disbelief. "I can't believe I'm getting the 'it's not you it's me' speech from _you._"

Now that he thought back on it, it did seem kind of clichéd. Crap. What he wouldn't give for a brain not hindered by blood and oxygen loss.

"Am I _really_ the reason you want to leave the marshal service?"

"No," he tried to sound convincing, but the effect was lost as the next two words tumbled from him lips. "Not exactly."

Stunned, that was the best way he could think of to describe her expression. "Oh..." stunned, and quickly trying to pull back inside her shell. Trying to hide the fact that she was hurt. The sharp, biting smile tried to turn the corners of her mouth, but it was a weak affair. She gave a mirthless chuckle as she turned her face away, and he could almost hear her thoughts. _Sooooo, if I'm not the reason exactly, I'm what? The reason...approximately! ?_

He had hurt her. Marshall stared at the back of her head, willing her to turn back and face him. He wanted to explain properly, he just wasn't having a very good time formulating words...or thoughts...

She let her breath out again. "Wish they'd come already." He saw her jaw tense, as though she was biting her lips. She pressed her face into her upper arm for a moment, and Marshall felt his heart clench.

"Look," he tried to sound forceful. "It's nothing like what you think." It wasn't. He wasn't thinking about leaving because he couldn't stand to be around her. He was thinking of leaving because all he _wanted_ was to be around her.

"Oh yeah?" Mary turned back to face him so fast her pony tail whipped over her shoulders. There was no smile on her vivid, imp face now. She was glaring again. Hiding pain behind temper. It was how she coped. "Then you should probably explain, because I'm pretty confused. I know you love the job and I thought you..." Her eyes suddenly couldn't quite meet his, and her voice lost its assurance for a split second. "I thought we were friends." She sounded, for a moment, like a little girl. Lost and afraid in an adult world that she didn't understand.

"We _are._" How could she doubt that? "You're my _best_ friend." _My world, actually._

"Jesus, Marshall," for once, it sounded more like a prayer than an expletive. "You're like my only friend." She couldn't look him in the face as she said it, and her voice was so low he had to strain to hear her. It cost her a lot to say those words, he knew. To admit that she was close to someone, possibly reliant on them. She was so independent, so strong.

"I know." He did know. He _was_ the only person that she had allowed herself to grow close to. But he was not the only person in her life. An image of Raphael floated behind his eyes, followed by a swift pang of jealousy. "And you're like, _my_ only friend." _My only anything._

Green eyes came up to meet blue, and there was a moment of silence where the partners gazed at each other. Dirty, exhausted, breathing the still, stuffy air of the abandoned building.

"So?" There was some relief in her tone at his admission, but she was still confused. Mary shrugged one shoulder. "Sounds like a pretty good arrangement! What's the problem?"

She didn't get it. He didn't know if he could explain. "The problem with us is..." _You're everything to me. __**Everything**_**.**The words weren't coming out.

Mary looked up at him, and her expression was strained. "Please, just tell me."

He didn't know if he'd ever heard her ask for something like that. Almost pleading.

"I feel...like I'm the..keeper, of this..."_Fairy, imp, sprite, mythical and supposedly imaginary creature. _"exotic animal." _Like a Siren or a Sphinx._ "And I spend my time either protecting _you_ from the world," _because it would literally kill you to ask for help. It's like kryptonite for your soul. _"...or the world...from you." _Like any other denizen of the faerie realm, you have your malicious moment__s. You draw people to you with the Siren song of your life, but sometimes they end up crushed against the razor sharp edge of the rocks you surround yourself with. Like a Sphinx, you offer people the most challenging riddle; yourself. Unfortunately, wh__en they fail to solve it, you spring. _He looked at her, gaze tender. _Usually__ you don't give them enough time to put together the puzzle. And your claws are sharp. _"And it's just..." _Exhilarating, at times. Harrowing at others. You hold my heart in__ your capable hands, and you don't even know when you bruise it. _"It's just a lot of responsibility." Marshall could see her turning his words over in her mind, mulling, considering. Possibly counting to discover whether or not he had slipped a haiku in there.

She nodded her head, a tiny, brief gesture to tell him that she had heard his words. Understood them. Accepted them. Listened to them.

Respected them, because they came from him.

Green eyes came back up to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry."

He had never heard her say those words before. Marshall drew in a deep breath, mildly shocked. Her face was serious, too. At least momentarily.

Mary cocked her head to one side, shrugging as she spoke. "But that's your job."

Even as he sighed, slightly frustrated, all levity left her features. Before he could even think of how to react, she was leaning towards him, her right hand coming up to catch the back of his head. Firmly, but gently, she pulled him forward, leaned in and pressed her lips to his cheek.

Marshall closed his eyes as he felt the soft skin of her lips linger for a moment. All at once he was thrown back to a stable; feeling his partner's lips hurriedly press against his cheeks, his mouth...He hadn't been at all prepared for that, and in a split second had thrown caution to the winds and responded like a starving man offered a steak. Reality had coldly bitch-slapped him when Mary teased him for his eager reaction. Slapped him harder when she had readily accepted his lame argument that 'he was a guy' and that was what they did. It was then that he realized how deeply he had sunk his life and energy into his partner.

And how she didn't even notice.

He had started considering alternate career opportunities the next day.

Mary pulled back and stared deeply into his eyes. She left her hand at the back of his head, holding him in place. As though he would really try to get away from her. "And you cannot quit." Her tone was final. And yet...

"Okay."

Marshall knew that it might have been argued that he had agreed not to quit just to humor her. After all, they were probably about to die. It also might be argued that the lanky inspector had caved to the iron will of his tempestuous partner. Her words were an order that she obviously expected to be obeyed.

That wasn't it.

Looking into the depths of her green eyes, he had heard the demand of her words.

But her eyes said _please._

He knew Mary Shannon better than anyone. Better than her mother, better than her sister.

Better than Raphael.

She might never actually say the words out loud, but she didn't have to, because he could read them in her expressive eyes.

_Please don't leave me. Everyone else leaves me. Please don't go. Please._

So he said 'okay'. Because he wanted to be by her side. Because she wanted him to stay. Because he was her best and only friend, and she knew it. That would have to be enough for now...and maybe for years...and maybe forever.

Mary pulled back, her hand slipping from the back of his neck. Her eyes never left his, and he was pleased to see the very tiniest hint of the real smile touch her lips.

He was addicted to the venomous, cantankerous, acidic high that was Mary Shannon. He was addicted to the hidden sweetness, gentleness, and tenderness that lurked behind her barbed exterior. It was those qualities that really drew him back to her for a 'fix'; all the more precious because he saw them so rarely. She spoke her mind with no social conventions filter, and because of that, most people automatically labeled her and dismissed her, never bothering to probe beneath the surface.

Mary wasn't easy to speak with. She wasn't easy to work with. She was extremely difficult to be friends with, and she was damned near impossible to love.

Marshall had done it all. He would keep doing it all. Whether she asked him to or not.

A jolting cough brought him out of his musings with a jerk. His eyebrows drew together fractionally even as his hand went automatically to the source of pain. A new danger was coming up on him, one he didn't plan on sharing with his partner. The tube she had placed in his chest alleviated the pressure of air, but apparently the internal bleeding had not abated. A second cough confirmed his suspicion; his lung had been nicked by the bullet, and was now filling with blood. He could feel it rasping in his chest. _Well, that's not good..._

Unfortunately, even after a heart to heart, Mary was as observant as ever. Her gaze darted down to the water bottle sitting between them. Seizing it, she stared, jaw agape.

The water had turned from clear to pink; from pink to red, and was on its way to becoming opaque. Her eyes darted back to his face.

"It's just a little blood," he said, trying to sound noncommittal and reassuring even as he clenched his teeth against the throbbing exacerbated by the cough. "Nothin' to worry about." Not much anyway. Unless you counted the fact that whether by assassin's bullet, or drowning in his own blood, he would die unless something changed soon.

Her eyes went from him, to the bottle. He could see the decision being made in her mind.

Mary set the bottle down carefully and strapped her ankle holster into place. Jerking her pant leg over the weapon, she hastily scooped clips off the floor and rose to her feet. The blond marshal pulled her keys out of her pocket and quickly replaced them with the spare clips.

She was preparing for battle.

A battle she intended to leave him out of.

He knew that she was making the right call. He wasn't going to be much good to anyone very soon. All the same...

Mary bent down and placed the keys to Horst's shackles in Marshall's hand. "These are for...you know." His fingers caught hers, remembering how he had slapped keys into her palm earlier in the day. Harshly, angrily. He wished he hadn't done it. "In case I don't..." She paused, obviously struggling for words. Marshall could fill in the blanks. In case she didn't come back. In case she died. Mary shrugged awkwardly in her bent over position. "You know."

He did know. And he was glad that she hadn't said it out loud.

They gazed at one another for perhaps one second longer. Mary pulled away first. She snatched a black marshal's jacket from the duffel and swiftly swung it around her shoulders as she straightened up.

Horst peered over the bar, his nose twitching nervously as he watched her stand. "What's goin' on? What are you doing?" He didn't sound quite so snide anymore, and Marshall was meanly pleased to hear the note of anxiety in Horst's nasal voice.

"Just stay here till I get back," Mary ordered brusquely. She was already moving towards the back door.

He wanted to tell her not to go; not to put herself in harm's way. Marshall knew that she would never listen. She wasn't the damsel in distress, in this story or in any other.

"Be careful," he called after her. Ordered her. He thanked his lucky stars, those words actually came out strongly, instead of choked off in a cough.

Mary didn't stop moving, but she looked back at him over her shoulder. She smiled. No hard edges, no sharpness. The real smile.

As she slipped into the rapidly darkening desert, he realized that might have been the last time he was ever going to see it.

"What's she doing?" Horst's whiny voice demanded answers. "Where's she going?"

Marshall didn't look at him. His blue eyes were glued on the door, where he had last seen his partner. "She's going to kill them," he said quietly, through set teeth. "Before they kill us." He hoped.

Pain flared agonizingly, and Marshall allowed his head to fall back against the couch.

_Okay, pull it together, Mann_. He had to think. Thinking would help him stay focused; stay conscious.

Academic, he had called Mary's observation. He loved academic. Focus on that. Mary said she had seen the female assassin use a GPS device to track them. How?

His wound throbbed and Marshall tried to gasp, but he could feel the gurgle of fluid collection in his chest. He didn't know how they had been tracked. He just...couldn't...

GPS. She had used a GPS. That meant there had to be some kind of homing beacon giving out a signal. Where was it?

It couldn't be the car. They had followed the GPS to the gas station to sabotage the car. He knew neither he, nor Mary had come into contact with them before that unfortunate encounter. That only left Horst. How could that be?

Another throb. Marshall closed his eyes tightly, grinding teeth together in an effort not to make a sound. He coughed, and tasted blood. Crap. That couldn't be good.

He had frisked Horst himself before they left the prison. The man didn't have anything on him.

The lanky inspector allowed his eyes to crack open and observe Horst.

Vanderhoff must have been unaware that he was being observed. His normal, insipid expression was replaced with a look of cunning as he tapped fingers against the black satchel he held in his lap.

The medical bag.

The GPS had to be in the medical bag.

Which meant that Horst not only planned to go to prison, but he planned to be found and broken out.

Stars were starting to pop around the edges of Marshall's vision. He had to stay conscious...he had to warn Mary...somehow...

Another cough shook him and his head fell forward. He was clinging to his faculties by a thread.

0-0-0-0

2003

0-0-0-0

Marshall glanced at his partner out of the corner of his eye, hands on the wheel of his SUV. Something had changed. Something in between his spontaneous haiku and her offering to accompany him had altered her attitude.

Her words were still sharp, but the driving force behind them had softened. Marshall actually got the impression that she was trying to distract him from the unpleasant task at hand. She was being...nice.

In her own, unique, sarcastic fashion.

For instance, instead of laying into Marie, or listing all of his faults that had led to this situation, she was berating the driver in front of them. Every missed turn signal, sudden stop and tail gate was noted and logged by the Mary Shannon traffic report. She reminded him of something that he had read...

"Tell me," he asked, "Have you received any physical trauma? You know, blow to the head...spike through the brain?"

"Something had to make me decide to go into Wimpsec," she answered without missing a beat. "Why do you ask?"

Marshall chuckled. When she wasn't intent on ripping your heart out, Mary was actually pretty witty. He enjoyed their banter. "I ask, because you bring to mind the case of Phineas Gage. Gage was a railroad worker in the early 1900's. After an unfortunate accident, wherein he received a railroad spike through his head, his personality was completely changed..."

"Staring listlessly into space while drooling into your oatmeal is not a personality change," Mary interrupted, quirking an eyebrow at him. "Why does this remind you of _me_?"

"...into a much more aggressive individual," he continued calmly, trying not to grin at her question. "The accident appeared to have removed any semblance of a mental filter. For the rest of his life he spoke whatever came to mind immediately, without running it through the stripping process of social conventions."

"Soooo...he became a total asshole."

"Yes," Marshall admitted. "But without the further character flaw of being able to lie. Sure, he said awful nasty things; was totally forthright and abrasive, but his integrity was unquestionable, because people knew he could not lie." He glanced at Mary and shrugged. "Reminds me of you."

Mary shook her head in disbelief. "Okay, give me the truth. Were you bitten by a radioactive encyclopedia? Is that where you got your trivia super powers?"

"I fight illiteracy and ignorance," he replied calmly. "I even wear the tights."

"Great. Nightmares abounding for me tonight."

He raised an eyebrow at her as he turned into a small neighborhood drive. "That's hurtful."

"So is the thought of you in tights."

Marshall was still smiling a little as he pulled up outside a small, white house and put his SUV in park. Marie and Dominic's home was modest, well tended, and attractive. There were neatly grown shrubs lining the front walk; not a weed in sight. A light shown through the sheer curtains.

If he hadn't known the story behind this pretty house he would've been charmed. As it was, he could only wonder how a house that was so brightly lit could seem so dark.

He and Mary walked up to the door and rang the bell. The curtains beside the door stirred, and he caught a brief glimpse of big eyes and a pale face. Marie. A few seconds later the door swung inwards. Marie stood there, wearing a cream colored tunic sweater and long skirt. Her sleeves flowed over her wrists, leaving only the tips of her fingers exposed.

She looked better than she had the last time he had laid eyes on her, but that wasn't saying much.

"Marshall," the relief in her voice was almost palpable. Her arms folded tightly around herself, shoulders hunched. "Please, come in." Her gaze drifted to Mary and the lanky inspector suspected that she would rather Mary leave, but didn't have the courage to request it. He could understand the desire. Mary hadn't been exactly friendly, gentle or understanding the last time the two women had met.

The partners entered the Andrew's house, following Marie through the short hall into a cozy living room. Marshall and Marie took seats on opposite ends of the couch, facing the doorway. Mary deigned not to sit, and wandered over to the window.

"What happened?" Marshall asked quietly, his attention fixed on the tiny woman across from him. She still had that broken, fragile air surrounding her, even after all the bruises had faded and her arm had healed.

Her small fingers fiddled with a long strand of hair. "I noticed that he was spending a lot of time out of the house," she said quietly. Her voice was so low he had to lean forward to catch her words. "One night, I asked him where he was going." Her hand fluttered to her cheek, and Marshall suddenly realized that there was a fading bruise there, almost hidden by the clever application of makeup. He took a deep breath, willing himself to stay calm.

Marie noticed his sudden tension and pulled her hand back to her lap quickly. Her eyes darted

down to her fingers. "He wouldn't answer."

"Oh he gave an answer," Marshall heard Mary mutter. "Bet he even told you twice..."

He shot a quelling look over his shoulder at her.

Marie bit her lip. "I...I went through some of his things when he was gone."

The horrified tone of her voice made it sound like she had knowingly defiled the Holy of Holies. Bending over, she pulled a shoebox out from under the couch and deposited it between herself and Marshall. The moment it touched the cushions, Marie jerked her fingers back as though they had been burned and buried them in her lap.

The lanky inspector looked from her to the box, then slowly reached out and lifted the lid.

Nestled inside were several bags of white powder.

"He brought that home after one of his nights out," Marie whispered. "Marshall, I think he's dealing again. You have to get him to stop!" Her face came up, eyes wide and frightened in her pale face. "If he's arrested, he'll be kicked out of WitSec." Tears brimmed and overflowed, leaving tracks down her cheeks. "Then the Andrelli's will find him, and he'll be killed."

Marshall wanted to bang his head against something hard.

"Sounds like a silver lining to me," Mary said cheerfully.

Again, he shot a look at her, but his time it was more than half pleading. _Please shut up. Please stop saying out loud what I'm thinking in the blackest most evil part of my soul._

"Marie," he said carefully, "does Dominic have any idea that you know about this?" He was pretty sure he knew the answer to that. Her frightened stance, the notable absence of her former mob boss husband, the way her eyes kept darting towards the door...all of these things pointed to her operating without her husband's knowledge. What he really wanted was some time to sort through the mess that was in the process of being dumped into his lap.

Marie shook her head.

"Okay," Marshall put the lid back on the shoebox. "Okay, okay, okay." Long fingers came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He had to think. He had to be calm to think. He wasn't calm.

He was _enraged_.

Pulling his hand away from his face, he met Marie's teary gaze.

He was saddened.

She was so...helpless. Largely due to her own decisions, but that only frustrated him more. It would be so easy to help her! If she would just let him.

"Marshall." Mary's voice was warning. He turned to see her looking out the window, green eyes narrowed. The sound of a car door slamming alerted him to the threat. Dominic was home. Marshall turned back to Marie in time to see the blood drain from face. Her hands knotted together in her lap so tightly he could see her knuckles turning white. Dark eyes widened until he could see the whites surrounding the iris. She was so scared.

"Marie," he said softly as he got to his feet. "You don't have to stay here. You can come with Mary and I. We can protect you. You don't have to stay here and let him hurt you for trying to help!"

She was trembling. She was actually so frightened that she was shaking where she sat. "He's my husband." It broke Marshall's heart to see the way she looked at the door; like she was expecting a monster to walk through and devour her.

She was. Only this monster wore a human face, and he sought to consume her spirit rather than her flesh and blood.

For once, he thought he saw a flicker in her steadfast determination to stay by Dominic's side.

"I love him," she whispered.

Mary turned towards the other woman, her face earnest for once, rather than mocking. "He is your husband, and you obviously love him more than is good for you," her voice had lost its biting edge. "But all the love that you give isn't going to change him. If you want him to be a better man; a better human being, you have to _stop_ enabling his immoral decisions. Every time you lie for him you are letting him know that he can do anything, and no one will ever stop him."

_There. _He could see it in her face. Marie was actually considering a course of action that would allow him to take her out of harm's path. He could have kissed Mary, but he was pretty sure that she would remove some fairly major parts of his anatomy.

"I know you don't want him hurt," Mary continued, her voice intense, "but you have done everything you can to help that son of a bi..."

Marshall cleared his throat meaningfully and shot her one final look.

"Dominic," she rephrased semi-smoothly. Even though the situation wasn't at all funny, Marshall couldn't help but be amused at the way Mary spat the name out. It almost sounded like an insult the way she said it.

The front door opened and closed.

Marie stood slowly. Marshall was afraid that she might pass out. It might be better if she did. Then he could get her out of here for a short time at the least. Maybe give Dominic a chance to cool down. The former mob boss would no doubt be angry that the marshals were here in his home.

Footsteps sounded in the hall. Heavy, stumbling, uneven thuds. Marshall and Mary exchanged a quick look. If this was Dominic, he was almost definitely _not_ sober. Before either partner could say another word, Marie's husband slid his bulk into the door-frame.

0-0-0-0

Mary felt her muscles tense the moment Dominic came into view. Good Lord, she could smell him from her position by the window! The alcoholic fumes wafting from him were so strong she was impressed that he managed to stay vertical. Granted, he _was_ leaning pretty heavily on the door post, but still.

The former mob boss had bulked up since she last saw him, if that was possible. His dark eyes roved around the room in an unfocused manner. Sweeping from left to right, his red rimmed gaze glossed over her, to settle on Marshall.

"Marshall," Dominic's words were slurred. "What're you doin' here?" Even half-passed out, the eyes glittered with menace. "Always pokin' your nose where it don' belong...nosy son of a ..." his bloodshot gaze drifted suddenly to his wife. "Did you call him? Ask him to come here?"

"Dom," Marie's voice was a quaver. "Sweetheart..." the tiny woman stepped towards her husband, ignoring Marshall's alarmed expression and hand motion for her to step back.

Mary didn't like this. Marie had just placed herself between Marshall and her husband. Marshall obviously didn't like it either. He was already moving, slowly and carefully so as not to startle the belligerent drunk.

"Dom," Marie said again, "I did call him. I invited him over."

Not the time, nor the situation in which Mary would've divulged that bit of info.

Dominic slid a couple inches down the doorpost, but there was a new rage sparkling in his eyes. All his anger was focused on the frail, fragile woman in front of him.

"Marie is trying to help you," Marshall interjected, drawing Dominic's attention to himself. "She was worried that you might be engaged in illicit activities." The tall man was speaking in a calm, controlled voice, his hands held at waist height, palms open. Classic non-threatening pose. Even as he spoke, Marshall was inching towards Marie. He was trying to get himself positioned between her and her husband just in case things went south in a hurry. Drunks could be unpredictable. She should know.

Right this second, Dominic did not appear to be much of a threat. He seemed hardly able to move, and Mary could see no weapon. The look in his eyes made her continue to regard him warily as she too began inching forward.

Dominic's dark eyes suddenly fell on the box resting on the couch.

Deadly intent flared to life, like a bomb exploding.

Mary was already moving; already running, but she wasn't going to be fast enough.

With a speed she never would have anticipated coming from someone that drunk, Dominic pulled a gun from his pocket and fired.

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**There you go! Even though I don't deserve them for being late...I hope you'll review anyway. *puppy dog eyes*. And the next chapter should be up by Wed. **


	5. To Kill a Mockingbird

**Hey, look at me and my bad self. I am posting on time! Yay for timeliness. :) Now, there was some outcry about leaving the chapter in it's cliffie position, and I would apologize except I'm really not very sorry. I LOVE writing cliffies. Probably should've warned y'all about that ahead of time, eh? Yeah. I should've. Anyhoo, I have received, once again, a large amount of simply wonderful reviews, and I cannot express how much I love them and appreciate all who took the time to tell me what they thought of the story. Thank you!**

**Now, before reading on, I will quickly say that this chapter is set up slightly differently from the rest. Instead of starting out in the midst of Trojan Horst, this whole chapter is from the 2003 perspective. Just so no one is confused. I'll be reverting to the split time in the next chapter.**

**Thanks again, and enjoy the fic!**

0-0-0-0

2003

0-0-0-0

Marshall saw Dominic's dark, alcohol-rimmed eyes move to the box where it rested. Saw the explosion of violent rage in their depths.

The gleam of light on the barrel of a revolver.

His hand shot out to grab Marie; push her out of the way…

Not enough time.

Marie was thrown backwards with the force of the shot, colliding with Marshall. His arms wrapped around her tiny frame instinctively, cradling her even as the impact drove him off balance. Marshall stumbled and fell, unwilling to release the limp bundle in his arms to regain his feet.

He looked down in horror. Marie's eyes were blank. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Instead, a bubble of blood formed there.

_Oh no..._

One of her hands fluttered away from her abdomen and Marshall saw that it had turned crimson.

Blood was welling out of the gunshot wound; spreading like a wine stain across the pale fabric of Marie's sweater.

_Oh no, no, no..._

He could hear Mary as though from far away. She had taken Dominic down, was in the process of cuffing him. "Marshall!"

"Call an ambulance," he said roughly, quickly clamping both hands over Marie's wound. He couldn't stop the flow of blood. It was oozing through his fingers. "Marie, hold on. We're going to get you some help, do you hear me?"

Mary had her cell phone out. She was already talking to the 911 dispatcher, giving them the address.

Marshall could hear Dominic's voice blubbering; how he hadn't meant to hurt her...he hadn't meant to hurt her...he loved her...

The words turned his stomach. "Hold on," he kept saying, trying to hold back the red flood. "Hold on, Marie." _Please don't die._

Her eyes never left his face. Big, wide, fearful, pain-filled. He felt his heart twist ruthlessly in his chest. Had he _ever_ seen this woman at a time when she wasn't afraid? She stared at him as he felt her life drain away through his fingers.

Eyelashes fluttered.

"No! Marie, you have to stay with me!"

She didn't answer. Before her eyes slide shut, he thought he saw a change in their expression. The perpetual fear melted away; replaced with...relief?

"Marie!"

0-0-0-0

Mary kept her knee pressed into the base of Dominic's spine, ignoring his drunken whining. True, he was handcuffed now, but she didn't see any reason why he should be comfortable.

Mary glanced at her partner and felt her stomach take a swan dive. Marshall was on the floor, Marie sprawled across his long legs. Her partner had both hands pressed over the rapidly enlarging stain. The paramedics were on their way, but...

Mary's gaze went to the gun she had knocked from Dominic's grasp. A revolver. Five bullets left. Her professional eye noted the caliber of the remained rounds. A quick, mental calculation of what one of those rounds would do to a small woman at close range left her with very little hope of Marie's survival.

Unfamiliar emotion stirred in the blond marshal's mind. Marie was dead. Her body just hadn't gotten the message yet. Neither had Marshall. He continued to talk to her, trying to get her to stay conscious; trying to halt the inevitable draining of life.

She looked across the room at him and felt her eyes burn with unshed tears. She blinked them back rapidly, biting her lip. He would find out soon enough.

Digging her knee into Dominic's back a little vindictively, she flipped her cell phone open once more and punched the speed dial.

"Stan? Yeah, it's Mary. We have a problem."

0-0-0-0

Flashing red and blue lights threw garish splashes of color against the walls of the Andrew's living room. Mary could see a couple squad cars through the curtains. One of them contained Dominic. Douchebag was probably still whining about how he hadn't meant to hurt his wife. What really fried Mary was that it was almost undoubtedly true...but all that meant was that he had intended to kill a U.S. Marshal. His wife just happened to be between Marshall and the bullet, and Dominic was used to plowing over her to get to what he wanted. How had they kept this jackass in the program so long? What bureaucratic moron looked at this crappy mess and decided that it was worth the trouble?

Someone who had only heard of Marie, or read her name in a file. Someone who had never actually encountered the bruised, bleeding woman in an E.R., lying to protect her miserable excuse for a husband.

What she wouldn't give for five minutes alone with _that_ prick. Whoever he was, he had not only kept Marie in the line of fire, but had ended up putting Marshall and herself there too. While Mary knew that her job entailed a fairly large element of risk, there was a difference between working with trained lions and sticking your head down the throat of one brought straight from the Serengeti. Or wherever they were from. Marshall would know. Mary dug her fingers through her hair absently. Boy this was turning into a nightmare of a night.

The blond marshal stood pressed against the wall beside the living room doorway, trying to stay out of the way of the numerous police officers that were milling about the small house. They ignored her for the most part, busily going about their respective tasks.

Marie's body lay motionless beneath a sheet. She had been pronounced dead shortly after the paramedics arrived.

Mary's green eyes drifted toward her partner in concern. He had moved out of the way when the EMT's came, but remained seated on the floor, his back resting against the couch, eyes fixed on the pitifully small, sheet draped figure.

"Hey," a hand at her elbow turned her attention to her boss.

Stan's face was grim as he took in the scene. "I spoke with the State's Attorney."

Something about the hard glint in his gaze made Mary's eyes narrow. "They're not still trying to keep him, are they?"

"They tried," Stan said shortly. "I let them know that it was out of the question."

Mary shook her head in disbelief. "Unbelievable."

"Tell me about it." Her boss' eyes turned to Marshall. Compassion replaced the grim disgust. "I'll go talk to him."

Stan took a step forward, but Mary caught hold of his shoulder. "Let me."

Her green gaze fixed on Marshall, she completely missed the stunned look that pasted itself across her boss' face.

0-0-0-0

Marshall leaned back against the couch. He should get up.

He was just too tired.

The tall inspector could feel the adrenaline that had shot through him the moment Dominic pulled his gun receding; leaving him weak and shaky with shock.

Marie was dead.

Marshall started to bring one of his hands up to pinch the bridge of his nose, but stopped and stared. His long fingers were coated with Marie's blood. It was cold and sticky. He shuddered.

A dull throbbing in his side where Marie had crashed into him was becoming more and more persistent. He hadn't felt a thing until a few seconds ago. Ah, the wonderful, Novocain-like effect of adrenaline. Marshall winced slightly. _Wish it could last a little longer_. With the impact from the front, then falling without being able to catch himself, he might have cracked a rib.

A hand gently touched his shoulder, but he didn't look up. Right this second, all he wanted was for the world to go away and leave him alone.

His blue eyes were drawn like a magnet to the shrouded figure lying on the floor. Tears burned, but didn't fall.

0-0-0-0

Mary crouched beside her partner, settling her weight on her heels. Right offhand, she couldn't recall encountering anyone who looked more dejected than Marshall Mann at this moment.

His knees were drawn up to his chest, forearms resting on top, bloodstained hands dangling.

Tears were swimming in his eyes.

Mary opened her mouth, but couldn't think of what to say. This wasn't her thing. Comforting people was Marshall's job. He was the one who was good at it. Maybe she _should _let Stan talk to him. Mary glanced at the door, but her boss had already exited. She could hear his voice conferring with an officer outside the living room. So much for that idea. Damn.

The blond marshal turned back to her partner, biting her lip a little. What was she good at?

The truth. She was good at telling the truth. Usually in a way festooned with criticisms, sarcasm, and harshness.

She took a deep breath. What was the truth in this case?

"It wasn't your fault," she said quietly. "You were there for her."

He moved for the first time, eyes turning toward her, brows drawing together in confusion.

Mary didn't falter. "You did everything you could to help Marie, short of dragging her out of the house against her will. And you were there. I know that right now it doesn't seem like a lot, but you were present whenever she needed you. If she called, you would come, and she _knew_ she could count on that." Mary paused, fumbling for words as she looked into her partner's tear-filled eyes. Her heart twisted, surprising her. "This wasn't your fault, Marshall." _Don't blame yourself_. "It wasn't." _Don't be sad._

To her surprise, he nodded readily. "I know."

Mary stared at him. _ The sound you hear is my mental gears shifting without a clutch. _"...what?"

He sighed, closing his eyes. A tear streaked down his face, but he made no move to wipe it away. "It's just such...such a waste. She was one of those people who had so much to offer, but gradually allowed her spark to be extinguished." He opened his eyes to meet Mary's flabbergasted gaze. "Did you know she painted? She was very talented. Won several prizes at an amateur art competition." He let his breath out slowly.

Blue eyes traveled back to the sheet. "She could've been much happier, if she had just let us help her." He winced slightly and stretched one of his legs out.

Marshall's gaze was not on his partner, and so he missed the expression that crossed her face.

Mary stared at the man sitting in front of her. A new emotion was battering at the fortress walls she had erected about herself. This man... this geeky nerd was someone who quoted from Russian literature and composed haiku on the spot. He was tough enough to take on someone who outweighed him by a good fifty pounds and tender enough to shed tears for opportunities lost. Not opportunities for himself, but for those taken under his wing.

Someone who kept their promises, even when he didn't want to.

Someone who _kept_ their promises.

With a click, the last piece of the Marshall Mann puzzle locked into place, turning into a key.

_He_ kept his promises.

A key that unlocked the fortress doors, allowing the new emotion to flood her entire being. It was alien; something she certainly couldn't remember feeling for a partner before, and maybe not anyone else either.

Respect.

Mary squirmed. Tender, meaningful silences filled with unspoken phrases were even less her thing than comforting people. Her mind automatically shied away from her serious revelation, reverting to its default setting of witticisms.

Green eyes scanned Marshall, taking in the crimson splotches decorating his sleeves and the torso of his shirt. She hadn't even noticed how covered in blood he really was until he had stretched out his leg. "You realize you look like an extra in a bad horror film?"

The barest hint of a smile touched his lips.

Encouraged, Mary gestured to the stain. "Seriously, you may not be able to salvage...that..." she stopped, eyebrows drawing together. _What the hell?_ The blond marshal stared at her partner's shirt, a vague sense of unease tugging at the back of her thoughts. _Something_ was setting off alarm bells. What was it?

0-0-0-0

Following Mary's gaze, Marshall looked down at himself and felt his stomach flip queasily. Marie's blood was covering his clothes. Could this night get more horrific?

0-0-0-0

Mary looked towards the sheet draped figure lying on the floor. Small. So small.

Green eyes went to a cop who was currently bagging Dominic's gun. Big. Really big. Large caliber bullets. Shot at close range.

Her gaze snapped back to Marie. Blood was seeping from under the sheet.

Images began to play through her mind in fast forward.

_Dominic pulled the gun and fired seconds before Mary tackled him, throwing him to the ground. Drunk as he was, he hadn't been able to coordinate his limbs to fight her off. Her handcuffs were out and clamping on his thick wrists. _

_ Kneeling on the former mob boss' spine, Mary looked towards her partner. "Marshall!"_

_ He was on the ground, Marie caught in his arms, her body draped over his long legs. Marshall's hands were clamped over her abdomen, but Mary could see blood already oozing through his fingers._

_ "Call an ambulance," his voice was abrupt, terse. Unnecessary direction, she was already pulling her phone out. She could hear his voice speaking to Marie in a low, intense tone even as she informed the 911 dispatcher of their situation and gave the address._

Marie was shot from the front. Blood on Marshall's hands made sense. Blood on his jeans made sense. Blood on his sleeves made sense.

But the large patch on the torso of his shirt did not. Not if the bullet had stayed in Marie's body.

If it had gone through though...

0-0-0-0

He needed to get up off the floor. Pull himself together. For some reason, he felt almost light-headed. The throbbing in his side had intensified, and Marshall winced again.

Stan was here. Marshall could hear his voice outside the room. The Chief Inspector would be coming in soon.

He should probably be standing to talk to his boss. With a quick heave the lanky lawman pushed himself to his feet .

Mary shot up too, a look of concern and alarm on her features. Whoa. Concern? For him?

"Marshall, wait...!"

He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but realized the problem almost immediately as a wave of vertigo swept over him, and the dull, throbbing pain sharpened into a stab.

_Oh_.

0-0-0-0

"Marshall, wait...!"

Mary was on her feet swiftly. If he actually was injured...

He was. She could see it in the way his face turned instantly white. Like all the blood had been drained away. _Just_ like that, in fact.

Marshall's knees buckled and Mary stepped forward without thinking, wrapping her arms around his waist; taking his full weight as he started to fall forward.

_Holy **mother**_**... **Okay, so her partner was considerably heavier than she would have guessed. One of his arms was resting over her shoulder, the other hand seized her elbow as he tried to stop himself from falling.

Blue eyes met her own and she could see him trying desperately to hold on to consciousness. His eyebrows drew together in consternation. "You...you're gonna' have blood...all over your shirt..."

"Not my main concern, doofus," she said with a gasp, trying to maintain her grip on her partner's body. "Slightly more concerned over the part where you got _shot._"

"Oh..." He looked down, as though he could see the blood patch when it was pressed against his partner. "Explains...a lot."

"Are you seriously trying to look down my shirt while you're bleeding out? That takes some kind of game." Mary took some delight in making her partner blush even as the muscles in her neck and back screamed at her. "Little help? !" she barked over her shoulder.

Finally noticing her dilemma, several officers leapt forward to assist her. Mary allowed them to ease Marshall away from her and help him to the couch. Stan's head appeared momentarily in the doorframe at the sound of her shout, only to disappear a second later. She could clearly hear him through the walls of the living room yelling for the EMT's to get their asses back into the Andrews' house.

0-0-0-0

Marshall felt himself being pushed back onto the couch. Could vaguely hear Stan's voice from outside. He looked up, trying to get his eyes to focus.

Mary was hovering over him, eyes large and worried. Her hands were hastily pulling at the buttons of his shirt, jerking the material out of her way.

There. A hole directly above his right hip, slowly leaking life fluid.

"S'okay," he tried to keep his words articulate enough not to worry her further. "Just a flesh wound."

"Idiot," she hissed, snagging an afghan off the back of the couch, and pressing it to his bleeding side. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Didn' realize…" he mumbled. "didn' even feel it till…couple minutes…ago…"

"You didn't feel _getting shot_?" Her tone was laced with an enormous amount of disbelief. "How do you not feel a bullet entering your body? !"

"Adrenaline…has some 'markable qualties…" he informed her. "Among which is the 'bility to…suppress pain…" he winced.

"Shut up." Her words were sharp, but he could hear no malice in her tone. "I can't believe you're actually trying to go into super geek mode _now_."

Maybe it was the blood loss, but he could swear he saw something different in the way she looked at him.

Marshall grinned weakly. He was going to pass out soon. He knew it. "That's how I roll. Quick…" Mary leaned forward, obviously worried. He raised a finger feebly. "…to the Nerdmobile…" From the look that crossed her face, he was pretty sure that if he didn't appear quite so pathetic, she would pinch him for that one.

And yet…her lips were quirking into a smile. Very small, half-formed. Missing all of the sharp sarcastic nastiness. A _real_ smile. He had only seen that smile once before.

There _was_ something different. Something about Mary had changed…again…for the second time in one evening. Huh. For someone who hated things to alter in any way, shape or form, this was cataclysmic.

No, that had too much of a negative inference. What was the word he was looking for? Shattering?

"Marshall?" Her voice suddenly became sharp with concern.

Still not it. Incredible?

"Marshall, can you hear me?"

He wanted to say 'yes', but suddenly found himself unable to command his tongue.

Incredible was _better_, but just not _quite_ right.

His vision began to swirl from colors to black, and the last thing he saw was Mary's anxious face bending over him. "Marshall!"

Auspicious. _That_ was it.

0-0-0-0

**There you go! Quick note, ALL spelling errors while Marshall is talking about adrenaline are intentional. And the next chapter should be out by Sat. I know I've said it before, but I'll say it again. I love me some reviews. :) See you all on Sat!**


	6. A Friend

**Hello all my wonderful, beautiful readers. Short story for you, I was able to (truthfully) tell my sibling beta that I was awoken by Marshall nibbling at my ear. Now, to shove that fantasy into the cold frame of reality, Marshall is my kitten. I have two kittens named Marshall and Mary. Yeah, officially obsessed, but I refuse to look on that as 'bad'.**

**Anyhoo, moving on...special thanks to those who reviewed anonymously. I really really love to reply to my reviewers, but since I can't use that feature for anonymous reviews, I thank you here. I loved the words you wrote, and appreciate your taking the time to let me know you enjoyed the story. :) **

**This chapter goes back to the split time format, starting out in the Trojan Horst era. Hope you all enjoy! On with the fic!**

0-0-0-0

Present Day

0-0-0-0

The back door slammed, startling him. She was back! A gentle hand touched the back of his head; a thumb brushed over the pulse in his neck. He felt her breath on the side of his face. "You alright?"

"Yeah," he grunted, trying to rally himself; tell her what he had figured out...

But her hands were already pulling away. The angry clip of her shoes was turning towards Horst. He couldn't see his partner's facial expression, but from the rigid set of her spine, he knew that she was enraged.

"I didn't hear any gunplay," Horst sniped as Mary drew closer to him. "Did you chicken out?"

Had he been watching this woman today? Did she really seem like the kind of person who would run from anything? Completely aside from the fact that the last time he had mouthed off at her the colorless little man had received her knee in his back.

Mary seized his collar, dragging him forward as she dug the barrel of her gun into Horst's neck. "Here's something interesting," she said, voice dangerous. "The SUV we came in, the front passenger side door is full of bullet holes."

She was figuring it out. Excellent. Marshall tried to breathe a sigh of relief, but nearly choked instead.

"Wow," Horst sounded nervous, as he should. "What do you know, it's almost like there were people shooting at us."

_Not what she's getting at, you little weasel._

"Not us, _me._" Mary's voice snapped a little more at his continued obtuseness. "There were no bullet holes in the back door where you were. Not a single one."

He had been expecting this, but the confirmation made his blood boil. Marshall wished to God that he wasn't so incapacitated. This sniveling rat had deliberately put both of them in harm's way. Had put _Mary_ in harm's way.

"So?"

_For the love of...he is really going to play this out to the hard and bitter end, isn't he?_

"So," Mary's voice was hard and pointed. "Explain to me why two shooters who obviously went to a lot of trouble to _find_ and _kill_ you didn't take a single shot at you!"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

"I think you do, and I think I do too."

Without further ado, Mary hauled Horst around the end of the bar and started to roughly frisk him.

Obviously the partners were thinking in tandem. She was searching for the homing beacon that he had to have.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Horst yelped as Mary's hands dug through his pockets.

"Where is it?" she snarled.

"What are you doing? Would you please stop feeling me up?"

A cough shook Marshall's frame as he tried to silence an entirely inappropriate giggle. _Has to be the first time anyone has ever asked her __**that**_. Pain lanced from his wound and he winced.

"Where is it Horst?" Mary demanded angrily. "You have a tracking device that led straight to us."

Marshall heard her shove him, followed by a moment of silence. She must have been contemplating, going over options, just as he had moments before. He could almost predict her line of thought. _Can't be in the car, you know it isn't on him, so that only leaves..._He coughed. It was getting harder to breathe again. _The bag, Mary. Check the bag_.

The clatter of someone roughly digging through a small satchel filled with plastic objects was like sweet music to his ears. Almost as wonderful as Horst's instant, whiny protesting.

"Hey, hey! Those are my personal medical supplies, alright! You have no right going in there!"

_Yeeeeaaaaahhh...tell her another._

"Is this it?" She had pulled something out of the bag; was holding it up for perusal. "Is this how they found us?"

"Be careful with that..."

Immediate smashing sound as she pounded the device against the bar.

Horst's voice became correspondingly more urgent. "Be careful!"

"Ooh," a sigh of contentment. Only heard in the exotic animal when she was proved right. "What do you know! A GPS transmitter!"

"What," Horst sneered. "You're an electronics expert?"

"No," she snapped back, "but I can _read._"

She must really be tense. Normally there would be a 'dumbass' thrown onto the end of that sentence.

"I...I-I-I-I have no idea how that got in there."

_A__nd if it weren't for the stuttering, she might possibly believe...no. She wouldn't._

"Yeah well, just for grins," He sensed, more than saw Mary bend to scoop up the keys for Horst's manacles. "Let's pretend you do know, huh?" Marshall heard the click of the key in Vanderhoff's shackles. "Then we can both play this game!"

"Do you think this is really the best use of your time?"

It was amazing how that man's voice became even more obnoxious the closer he got to blacking out.

"Humor me," Mary snapped. With a slightly vindictive jerk, she hauled on Horst's chain. _ Literally jerking someone's chain. That's actually kind of funny. _His partner strode past him quickly, making Horst shuffle behind her. Their progress was accompanied by more sniveling.

"See how this flows." From the sound of her voice, she was moving towards the window. Marshall heard the shackle clack sharply. She must have clamped it onto something else. Possibly that old candy rack. "Obviously you brought it into prison with you, and obviously your friends used it to bust you out, as it were. Which seems to imply you had the foresight to plan your escape before you got arrested."

_Yes! Exactly. Good. Stay on this train of thought..._ Marshall tasted blood on his lips again and swore silently.

"And how on God's green earth could I do that?" Horst demanded.

"Yeah, right?" Mary actually sounded like she was considering the possibility that she had been wrong. "Doesn't make sense."

_NO!__ Don't listen to him! To use one of your own phrases, he is spewing crap! The man is not only a murderer but a con man! Please base your decisions on your preconceived notions of con men and listen to nothing that he..._ Marshall winced as a stab of pain broke up his thready thought process.

"No," Horst said, relieved. "It doesn't make sense."

"Unless..."

_Unless is good._

"Are you a Kink's fan?"

He actually smiled. The song she was thinking of ran through his misfiring brain..._That's my girl._

"Okay," the asshole sounded nervous. Good. "The heat's getting to you, maybe you should just get a drink of water..."

"You know," Mary's voice was actually halfway friendly, like she was making pleasant conversation. "Met her in a club down in old Soho,"

She actually had a nice voice, he thought in bemusement.

"Where she drank champagne, and it tastes just like cherry co-la."

Something odd was happening though. He could hear her singing, even though he was fairly certain she had stopped. The room was spinning a little now. Marshall could hear his partner speaking, something about a hit...oh, that's right. The Perryville prison. Horst's work. Unbelievable.

_C-o-l-a, cola._

"...stark raving crazy..." Horst's voice. Geez, he hated that voice.

_She walked up to me and she asked me to dance._

"...here come your buddies..."

Marshall wished he could tell her to run out the back door. He couldn't get enough air to speak, and he couldn't focus, and he knew she would never go. Horst was whining again. Why? The door slammed open...the _front_ door. Mary!

_I asked her her name_

He tried. He honestly tried to push himself off the floor to go and help his partner. The room swung crazily and bright lights popped behind his eyes. He fell back with a gasp.

Her voice. He could hear her voice through the open door. Marshall waited; holding onto consciousness by a prayer and the skin of his teeth. His whole body tensed for the sound of gunfire that would herald his partner's death.

He waited.

And waited.

Heavy footfalls invaded his ears. Two men came around the end of the sofa and seized his arms, pulling him up between them. Even if he wished to, Marshall had no way to fight them off.

_And in a dark brown voice she said Lo-la._

What he really wanted was for his oxygen deprived brain to stop playing that song. It just made it that much harder to concentrate and it was the oddest soundtrack for dying he had ever heard of.

He was stumbling along with the men, moving his own feet, but his weight entirely supported by them. As they stepped from the darkness of the gas station, he blinked, momentarily blinded by blazing headlights. Where was Mary?

They kept moving. He blinked again and he could see a dark, misshapen outline...

"Be careful with him. Be careful with him!"

If he could've drawn a deep breath of relief, he would've done so. She was alive. And...his eyes came into focus, adjusting to the bright lights of the truck.

And fully in charge of the situation. Horst's collar was gripped tightly in her left hand. Her right pressed her gun into the soft flesh under his jaw. Holding him in front of her like a shield, she held all the cards.

Listening to her commands, the two men who supported him were careful in their movements. Or at least not overly rough. Hauling him over to the passenger side of the vehicle, they opened the door and helped Marshall to the step. The lawman managed to crawl in on his own, lying himself down on the back seat.

He could hear Mary's voice speaking, but it was like a badly tuned radio, going in and out. _Come on, come on, get in the car_.

The driver's door swung open and Marshall craned his neck. Mary.

"Stay there," she ordered Horst. Getting into the Avalanche, she released him for a split second to close the door before snaking her hand through the open window and seizing his tie. Putting the truck in gear, she started rolling.

Marshall could hear the clink of chains as Horst shuffled along crazily trying to keep up. The mental image made him smile through his pain.

Craning his neck again, the lawman looked up just in time to see his partner give their witness/assassin a push that sent him sprawling into the dirt. Her foot came down on the gas and the truck leapt forward with a roar. Ordinarily, he would go into a discourse on the capabilities of the Avalanche, but he was seized by a coughing spasm.

_L-o-l-a, Lo-l__a._

It wasn't stopping.

The rumble of the truck changed as the wheels left dirt and hit asphalt.

He couldn't breathe.

The tiny beeping of Mary's phone penetrated his fog. "Come on, come on," she muttered. "Hang in there, Marshall! Hang in there!"

Always so bossy. He was trying. Fluid gurgled in his lungs.

"Stan! Stan, Marshall's been shot." A pause. "About two miles from route 66 and I-25. Yup. Yup, yup, yup."

The coughing wouldn't be so bad on its own if it wasn't accented with stabbing, throbbing, pain.

Darkness was swirling around him. He was going in and out of consciousness. Pain followed by moments of blissful peace.

_Well I'm not the world's most physical guy, but when she squeezed me tight it alm__ost broke my spine_

If only the darkness wasn't interspersed with strains of that song.

Flashing lights. The door behind him opened and his eyes cracked open to see Mary's face bending over him. So worried. She was speaking to him, but he could no longer decipher her words. The only thing that registered was the tone: a voice bereft of everything but tenderness and concern.

Did he look that bad?

She moved out of the way, allowing the paramedics to get through.

_Oh my Lola_.

Blackness descended, and even the last strains of the verse died away.

0-0-0-0

2003

0-0-0-0

Mary sat in one of the hideously uncomfortable hospital chairs, leaning forward, elbows resting on knees. Her fingers were twisting about one another nervously. Yes, Marshall had said it was just a flesh wound. As her own personal store of trivial trivia, he should be the one to know. Flesh wounds were not serious. He would be fine.

Unless he wasn't.

Unless he had been mistaken and it _wa__sn't_ just a flesh wound.

She shifted, trying to find a comfortable position on the chair. What was it with these things? Who seriously designed a chair that would invariably put half your ass to sleep while messing up your back? She glanced at the molded plastic and made a face. And who picked out pukey orange as a suitable color? Oh, we're so sorry your loved one is possibly dying...here, please make yourself comfortable on our half-cheek, regurgitation colored, plastic piece of...

She blew out her breath in frustration. Patience wasn't something that she was great at. Ask her to track felons, put a hole through an orange at thirty feet, or come up with sarcastic comebacks in a split second and she was your girl.

Sit in a hospital for lengthy periods of time, tensely awaiting the news on whether or not her partner would be breathing in the foreseeable future...not so much. How long had she been here anyway? An hour? Two? Hour and a half at least. She glanced at the clock on the wall.

_Only thirty minutes? ! Mother f..._

Swearing internally helped to occupy her mind, but only for a few seconds.

Mary leaned back against the chair's unyielding curve. Her long fingers drummed against her leg restlessly. She bit her lip. There was something else bothering her, and she wasn't sure exactly what it was. She was concerned for her partner, yes, but...but what? What was it that was almost pushing her into nervous wreck mode?

She had good spider sense, Marshall had told her when they first met. With a groan, Mary turned it on herself, for the first time in her life.

Why was she going nuts?

For the first time in as long as she could remember, she wanted to let someone in. She _wanted_ to share herself. It had taken her months to get to this point, and a person who was unlike anyone she had _ever_ met. She wanted to tell him everything. Jinx, Brandi, the whole ugly mess of her life that she hid behind her cutting smiles.

She bit her lip a little harder, willing away the sudden tears that rose to the surface. Until tonight, she hadn't realized just how different he was. It figured that just as she came to the conclusion that here was someone she could trust, confide in, respect...be friends with...

He gets shot.

She really should have seen that coming. It fit with her whole 'life sucks and then you die' mindset.

Mary scowled at the clock, as though it had done her a personal wrong. What was the deal with this anyway? She finally found someone who could take her crap; could actually stand to put up with her without any forced ties of blood holding him to her side (not that it worked on her dad) and who _wasn't_ looking to mooch dinner, gas money, a place to live, sex or her life's blood, (which her mother and sister seemed to thrive on, she swore,) and he got _shot_!

Pain stabbed through her heart as she realized that...she might not _get_ the chance to share anything with him.

It was a stunning revelation.

Over the months, she had come to depend on Marshall in ways that she didn't really understand. She expected him to be there in the office when she arrived. Expected him to set a mug of coffee on the edge of her desk if he got up to get a cup for himself. Spout bits of trivia off at intervals for the sole purpose of seeing her roll her eyes towards the ceiling. Gently tap her on the shoulder if she fell asleep at her desk.

Never stop asking if she was ready to talk to him; tell him about her fears, her hopes, her dreams...herself.

She imagined him gone from her life.

To her shock and alarm, there was a gaping, Marshall-sized hole. And Marshall was not a small man.

Slowly...carefully...painstakingly...her partner had woven himself into the fabric of her life without her notice. She had ignored all the signs, and he had become...dear...to her.

That sneaky _bastard!_

Approaching from the end of the hall, bearing two cups of horrible hospital coffee, Stan noted how his marshal seemed intent upon lighting the wall on fire with the mere force of her green gaze. Without a word, the Chief Inspector turned around and walked in the other direction, leaving Mary to her fuming.

The blond marshal jerked her hand back through her hair, eyebrows drawing into a V. He had done it on purpose! Weaseling his way in; making himself all..._trustworthy_.

And now he had the unmitigated _balls _to try and die? ! She had dealt with some horrible, low, scheming monsters in her day, but this took the cake. That selfish son of a bitch! How dare he try to die before she told him anything! Before she was able to take him up on his offer and tell him that she trusted him. That she respected him.

That he was her friend.

Mary bent over and buried her face in her hands. Her eyes were watering, and the pressure in her lungs was building into a scream of grief, and her ass was now _completely_ numb because of this _damn_, _**misconceived CHAIR...!**_

The touch of a hand on her shoulder brought her head snapping up. For an instant, her face was not hidden behind her usual sharp and cutting mask. Instead, she looked like a hurt and grieving child.

Stan squeezed her shoulder gently. "Marshall will be fine. Don't worry."

She opened her mouth to say something snappy, but nothing came. After a moment, she simply closed her jaw and nodded, willing herself to believe her boss' comforting words.

A young doctor with a clipboard came around the corner and Mary pushed herself to her feet. She vaguely recognized him as the guy who had told her to wait here; that he would come and tell her when there was any news. She was still wringing her hands nervously, and Stan patted her back. For once, she didn't mind someone touching her. It was a relief to know that there was a person who was willing to offer comfort.

"Inspector McQueen? Inspector Shannon?" The doctor smiled into her anxious green eyes. "Inspector Mann will be just fine. The wound was superficial." He consulted his clipboard for a moment, and missed the beatific smile that lit her face with a warm glow.

Stan saw it, but chose not to comment.

"The bullet was lodged only about half an inch under the skin. We dug it out, stitched him up, and he's getting some IV fluids as we speak."

"Why..." her voice croaked and Mary cleared her throat quickly. "Why did he pass out?"

"Blood loss," the doctor answered simply. "Because it wasn't tended to, he managed to lose a fair amount. As I understand it, he didn't even realize that he had been shot for quite a while."

"And...that is possible, right?" Mary harbored some suspicions that her partner had simply been on a macho trip, ignoring his wounds.

"Oh, definitely." The doctor nodded. "Adrenaline has some remarkable qualities, among which..."

"Is the ability to suppress pain." Mary cut him off. "Yeah, I've heard it." Ignoring the doctor's confused expression, she bulldozed ahead. "When do you think that he'll regain consciousness?"

"He's awake right now," the young man's face was kind as he gestured with the clipboard. "You can go see him if you want."

0-0-0-0

Marshall stretched his long legs across the E.R. bed. An I.V. was slowly replacing the blood he had lost. The lanky inspector sighed and leaned back against a pillow, wincing as he stretched the line of stitches decorating his side. Mary was right...the shirt he had been wearing was definitely not going to be salvageable. He glanced at the spatters on his jeans. Those were probably toast too. At least he could hang onto his boots.

"Careful," the nurse who was hanging his I.V. bag was a stout, motherly looking sort, with quick, capable hands and a no-nonsense attitude. "You pull those stitches and I will make sure that the doctor rescinds the release."

"Then you'd have to put up with me all night," Marshall said with his most charming grin.

She chuckled. "I've heard of worse fates." She patted his shoulder. "You sit still, be good, and you'll be ready to go in about an hour. Provided you take a cab, or have somebody who is willing to drive you."

"That shouldn't be a problem."

Marshall looked up in surprise at the voice. Mary was standing at the foot of his bed, arms crossed over her chest. Closing his mouth, he shrugged. "I didn't want to assume."

As the nurse drifted away, Marshall cocked his head to one side, waiting for his partner to speak. She looked like she wanted to. He could almost see the words she was mulling over flashing behind her expressive eyes.

Her red eyes.

Had she been crying? For him? His eyebrows drew together. He _told_ her that it wasn't serious. Granted, he had passed out shortly after that, so maybe it wasn't too convincing. "Is something…wrong?"

Her eyes immediately drifted to the toes of his boots as she rocked on the balls of her feet.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He didn't think she would say yes. After all, she never had before.

Mary nodded, a jerky movement akin to a horse trying to rid itself of a particularly annoying fly.

His eyebrows flew to his hairline. Huh? Eyes wide, he stared as he partner slowly came around the end of his bed and sat down by his feet. Her hands clasped together in her lap, fingers lacing and unlacing until he was certain that she was going to knot them together.

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Mary stared down at her intertwined fingers. She had the chance to speak. The words were stuck in her throat somewhere. She opened her mouth, but they just weren't coming out.

All of a sudden, a wave of frustration flooded her. What the hell was _wrong_ with her? ! It was like she needed some kind of emotional Heimlich to dislodge the things she wanted to say! "Son of a _bitch_!"

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If possible, he was even more surprised. "Um...anyone in particular?"

The green eyes turned toward him with a vengeance. "You! You miserable bastard!"

"Me? !" his jaw hung open in shock. "What the hell did I do? !"

"Always with the asking and the sensitive, caring crap!" she pointed her finger at him like a javelin. "You deliberately pushed yourself into my life, like a useless information spouting tumor, only without the assurance of the sweet release of death! You annoy me, you bother me, you irritate like a patch of poison ivy and just when I get to the place where I can stand you...you...you..." her mouth closed and one of her hands gestured violently to the neat row of stitches adorning his hip before reburying itself in her lap.

_Oh_.

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Mary took a deep breath. This whole 'sharing part of herself' thing wasn't going too well. She fixed her eyes on her hands again. _Come on. Don't wimp out. Stop being a coward, and actually tell him._ She was already regretting her outburst. In the moments when Mary wasn't being honest with herself (which was usually), she might think of keeping everyone at arm's length as one of her favorite hobbies. Then there came the times when she was all alone; left to her own devices with only the silent screaming in her head for company. She had a knack for driving a wedge between herself and the rest of humanity. For some reason, Marshall had been wedge resistant up to this point. Her gaze traveled to the side, slowly moving up his long legs, scooting up his torso, pausing at his adam's apple before she forced herself to meet his eyes. The blond marshal steeled herself for what she was certain she would find.

Anger. Rejection.

An arm length of space, pushing her safely out of the uncharted waters of friendship.

Marshall smiled gently. "Sorry."

_Crap_.

Silence stretched between them. "I thought you were going to leave," she blurted, forcing the words out.

"I'm _not._"

"I hate it when people leave."

"You hate all change. You're like the baseball players that never change their socks."

Mary actually laughed, but it came out as half a sob. Tears were standing in her eyes. For once, she didn't care if he saw them. "My dad left," she whispered. "It changed everything. Suddenly I was in charge of my baby sister and my crazy, alcoholic mother, holding my family together by dental floss and..." A teardrop managed to slide down her cheek. She brushed it away quickly. "...and...I..." trying to say something meaningful was not easy. "I hate it when people leave." She wanted him to understand what she was saying. She would hate for _him _to leave.

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The lanky inspector sat in stunned amazement. Had she just volunteered information about herself? Yes. She had.

He took a good look at his partner.

No edges.

No sarcasm.

For an instant, the wall she kept up around herself had cracked, letting him in. There was a soft core to this woman after all. One that almost no one ever saw. She hid a lot of pain behind her fortress walls. The fact that she was showing him meant that he had earned something very special; very precious.

Her respect and friendship.

Years later, Marshall would pinpoint this moment as the time that Mary sunk a barb through his heart, snagging him.

Another tear broke free, and before she could wipe it away, Marshall instinctively reached out and brushed it away with his thumb. She froze, and he quickly withdrew, giving her a grin. "I'd offer you my handkerchief, but I'm afraid that it is probably not in the best of shape."

She chuckled, wiping her eyes.

"I can, however, go over some of the details concerning its manufacture..."

"Not if you want me to give you a ride home you can't."

He sighed theatrically. "Fine. In the interests of transportation I'll forgo pontification."

She shook her head in disbelief. "Who the hell uses words like pontification?"

He shrugged, still grinning. "Nurse says I should be ready to go in an hour. Are you sure you want to wait around? It's late, and I can take a cab home."

"Nah," a little of her flippancy came back to her demeanor. "It's not a problem. I'll just bill you for the gas later." He rolled his eyes and she reached out to squeeze his shoulder. "Just be sure that when you get home you get some rest."

"You too," he countered. "You've had a long day." He waited for the denial, the argument that rest was for the weak and spineless.

Mary nodded. "Sure."

Marshall raised an eyebrow quizzically. "No...argument? Just, sure?"

She thought for a moment, then nodded again. "Yep."

"Huh." Marshall leaned back against his pillow. The lawman saw a new path of their partnership stretching before his feet. One where his opinion (at least some of the time) was respected and listened to. "An auspicious day indeed," he muttered to himself.

He would never be able to explain the swift, secret smile that darted across Mary's face. It was there and gone so fast that he wondered if he had even seen it.

"Pontification, auspicious...what next? Vicissitudinous?"

Marshall stared at her, jaw agape. "Where did _you_ pick that one up?"

She grinned, impishly. "That's for me to know, and you to torture yourself over, Encyclopedia Man."

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**Okee dokee, another chapter up and done. Hope you all enjoy! I love, crave, desire, and seek reviews. :) Pleeeeeeaaaaase? *bats eyelashes* Next chapter should be up by Wed. :)**


	7. His Girl

**Hello all! I am posting on time! It's a Christmas...or some other, lesser known holiday miracle. :) Seriously, this is the first time I've ever posted a story and been late only once. **

**Thank you all from the bottom of my heart for your feedback and your support. This has been a lot of fun to write, and I am actually sad to be ending the story with this chapter. :( However, I have loved writing for this fandom so very very much, I can't imagine not writing another tale. :)**

**This chapter starts off in 2003 then ends with Trojan Horst. Thank you all again! Enjoy!**

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2003

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Mary swung Marshall's SUV around a corner, almost clipping the car that had been turning left ahead of her. Good lord, but this monster was built like a boat...

The blond marshal let her eyes flit to the side, observing her partner. He looked better. Slightly. Stan had brought some of the extra clothes Marshall kept stashed at the office to the hospital, so at least he couldn't be confused for someone involved in a blood bank accident anymore. His face was still pale though.

She sighed, bringing her gaze back to the road in time to swerve and avoid bulldozing a Mini Cooper.

"Please don't kill anyone while driving my car," Marshall murmured sleepily.

She shot him another look. His head kept nodding, drifting toward his chest. "What, are you kidding? It's the perfect opportunity. My car doesn't have the horsepower."

Marshall blinked rapidly and shook his head. "Not to mention the fact that if you tried, you would leave behind evidence. For instance, your engine falling out onto the road. That might be traced to you."

One eyebrow crawled up her forehead dubiously. "Pretty witty for someone hopped up on Vicodin."

"Is that what they gave me?" Her partner dragged a hand over his face. "No wonder the car is spinning. I thought it was just your driving." He planted a hand against the ceiling, bracing himself as Mary cranked the wheel and sent the SUV shooting down his street.

Pulling to a stop, Mary shifted into park. She glanced at her partner once more. The stop had made him jerk in his seat, blinking in a manner reminiscent of a blinded owl. _How much did they give him_?

"Well, g'night," He said, his speech slightly slurred. Marshall fumbled for the door handle. It took him about a minute to find it.

_One of those times when I would kill for a camera_. Mary shook her head, grinning to herself. If she let this knucklehead try to walk into his home unassisted she would probably just wind up dragging him back to the hospital when he did a swan dive onto his front step. Unbuckling her seat belt, she swung her own door open.

0-0-0-0

Finding the handle was harder than it should have been. Someone seemed to have moved it from its usual position. Marshall drew in a deep breath. His fingers felt thick, and strangely disconnected from his body. Thoughts were moving slowly through a fog of foreign chemicals. _Stop the world please, I would like to get off...stupid painkillers._ The lawman made a face. He hated meds.

Finally, his fingers closed around the latch and he was able to push the door open. Marshall stepped down carefully. The walk stretched before him tauntingly, twisting ever so slightly in his perception.

Bracing himself against his SUV and wondering how on earth he was going to get inside without face planting on the sidewalk, Marshall missed the opening and closing of the driver's side door. He didn't realize his partner had exited the vehicle until she grasped his right arm and drew it over her shoulder, steadying him.

Marshall stared down at her, nonplussed. "Um...this is _my_ place..." His eyes darted to the side, just to make sure. Yup. Definitely...well, he was at least ninety-five percent sure that it was his place.

"I know that, nitwit," Mary said pleasantly. She wrapped her left arm around his waist and stepped forward. Marshall had little choice but to step with her.

"You said you were going to go home and get some rest..."

"And I am. Just as soon as I get you inside and in bed." Mary shot a look up at him as they slowly made their way down his front walk. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't dump all of your weight on me. You're surprisingly heavy."

"Duly noted." He was already being careful not to lean on her too much, using her arm and shoulder mostly for balance. She tightened her grip as he stumbled, helping him to regain equilibrium. The tall lawman looked down at her in mild confusion. "Correct me if I'm wrong..."

"You're corrected."

"Can I finish my sentence before you decide?"

"Depends on how fast you can talk." Mary pulled a set of keys out of her pocket and unlocked his front door. "Stan gave them to me," she explained. "I also have your cell phone."

Good thing. He would have completely forgotten them. "As I was saying," he continued, stepping over the threshold, "I may be mistaken..."

"A common turn of events."

"...but you seem to be trying to be nice." He quickly raised his left hand, holding the forefinger and thumb about an inch apart. "A little bit. Not enough to ruin your reputation of delighting in the misery of others."

"Nice?" Mary snorted as she flicked the light switch and gently directed him toward the hall. "Oooh, no. No, no, no. This is not nice. This is based purely out of self interest."

"Do tell." Marshall nudged his bedroom door open with his foot as he and Mary continued their bizarre version of the slowest three-legged race ever.

"If I leave you here unattended and you keel over, you'll probably end up cracking your head open on the toilet seat. Then when I come by to pick you up in the morning..."

"I'll have invented a time machine?"

"No, numbnuts, you'll have to go back to the hospital to be treated for a concussion." she narrowed her eyes at him as his settled onto his bed. "And don't bring up the time travel movies."

Marshall started to lean over so he could pull his boots off, but instantly realized how bad an idea bending was when the room nearly flipped itself upside down. Mary's firm hand pushed him back upright, and to his surprise she knelt and grasped the heel of his right boot. "Anyway," she continued, tugging at his footwear "I would have to take you back to the hospital, and if you think that I am waiting around..."

Tug.

"...on those damn..."

Tug.

"...ass numbing..."

Tug.

"...chairs..."

The boot came free with a jerk. Mary calmly set it to the side. "...for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, you have another thing coming." She quickly repeated the process for his left boot.

"Your concern for my well being is touching," Marshall said dryly as he slowly pulled his feet onto the bed and stretched out.

Mary's eyebrows drew together. "You don't want to take anything else off?"

"Not the way you tip."

The afghan he kept folded at the foot of his bed landed over his face. "I was thinking of your shirt, pervis."

Marshall pulled the knit material away from his face, rolling so that he hid his grin in the pillow. The pain meds were starting to really kick in now, and the world was slipping away. He thought he felt Mary adjust the afghan so that it covered him, but he couldn't be sure.

With an effort, he cracked one eye open and looked toward the door. Mary stood framed there with the light from the hall shining behind her. Hands on hips, she leaned her back against the doorjamb and crossed her ankles. Her silhouette was wavering, like he was viewing her through water, or smoke. It made him think of the tales of faeries...not the nice, Disney version wee people, but the mischievous, fey creatures of folk tales. One never knew if the faery they were speaking with would be of the helpful, kind variety, or the one carrying a lantern that lured unsuspecting travelers to their death in the cold depths of a bog. They were unpredictable, uncontrollable, fascinating, and unspeakably alluring. Mortals coming into contact with the realm of Faerie almost never chose to return to their former life.

His lips had the same oddly disconnected feeling as his hands, but he forced them to cooperate with his tongue. He had one more question to ask before he slipped into the waiting blackness.

Mary straightened and stepped forward. "Did you say something?"

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"Did you say something?" Mary gazed down at her partner. She could have sworn that he was trying to ask a question.

Marshall's eyes cracked open a little more. "M'not gonna wake up with one eyebrow shaved, am I?"

Mary grinned. Partly at the question, partly at the drowsy, half-slurred voice he asked it in. "Good idea. I'll definitely take it into consideration."

"D'you always kick people when they're down?" He mumbled, voice fading.

"It's when they're within easy foot range," she replied.

A silly grin spread over his face as the blue eyes slid shut. "That's my girl."

Mary froze, unsure of how to respond. Her initial instinct was to loathe all sappy nicknames. Sweetheart, honey, darling, snookums...all of them slid into her category of 'things to induce nausea.' Her head cocked to one side as she contemplated her next move. Yelling at him would do no good, he was already too far gone and she doubted he would notice being slapped either. There was always the eyebrow shaving idea...but Stan would see it in the morning and that would raise all sorts of awkward questions.

Besides...

Mary glanced around her, as though checking for witnesses. Ascertaining that there really was no one else in the room besides herself and Marshall, she allowed a soft smile to curl the corners of her mouth.

As nicknames went, it wasn't too bad.

She kind of liked it.

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Present Day

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Marshall groaned as he came back to consciousness. For a few seconds, the lawman was incredibly disoriented. The antiseptic smell and uncomfortable mattress let him know that he was resting on a hospital bed. He could have sworn that he had gone home...

His chest throbbed, further increasing his confusion. Hadn't he been shot in the hip?

No...no, that had been years ago...

He must have been dreaming.

The hospital room was dark, lit only by the softly beeping monitors. He could see the glittering city lights through the window. It must be late. Or very early. Marshall sighed softly. The last fading images of the dream danced through his head. Gentle hands adjusting the afghan. Mary's wavering silhouette as she watched him fall asleep. The lawman winced as his wound throbbed. His last memory of that night was her, leaning against the doorway of his bedroom.

Marshall's eyes swung to the hospital door. He didn't really expect to see her...didn't even know why he was looking...

Huh.

She was there.

Standing in almost exactly the same position.

Instead of resting on her hips, her hands were tucked tightly around her middle, like she was trying to hug herself, but she was there.

Marshall gazed at his partner, taking in her disheveled appearance. Mary's blond hair was still pulled back into the rough ponytail, straggling strands escaping around her face. A layer of desert dust and old sweat caked her skin. She was wearing the same pants and black, marshal's jacket she had on when he had passed out.

Tear tracks were visible on her cheeks, cutting through the dirt and grime of the horrific day.

Marshall met her eyes, seeing in them a bone deep weariness and strain.

"You look tired," he croaked, voice rough.

Mary bit her lip, and the silence of the sleeping hospital stretched between them. "I...I thought..." she shrugged; a twitching spasm. "I thought you were going to..."

"I _didn't_."

Silence again.

Marshall stirred, pushing himself up slightly. "What happened...did you get Horst?"

A smile; tiny and fleeting tugged at the corner of her mouth. For a moment, a hint of her indomitable spirit glinted in her eyes. "Oh yeah."

The smile disappeared as quickly as it had come and her eyes flitted away from his. Mary hugged herself even more tightly, as thought trying to squeeze herself into an unnoticeable ball. "You know I _do_ respect you, right?" Her voice was very small.

He smiled at her. "I know." He could see some of the tension leave her almost immediately. Her shoulders slumped in unspoken relief. Marshall motioned to the chair by his bed. "Want a seat? I know you hate them, but they're better than nothing."

The corner of her mouth tipped gently as she stepped into the room. With a groan, she sank into the mauve, low backed monstrosity. "It's an improvement over those upchuck colored half cheeked deals. I bet I can sit here for more than fifteen minutes without losing feeling in my lower extremities." she leaned forward and placed her folded arms on his mattress before dropping her head down onto them. "You know that you're not off the hook, right?"

His eyebrows raised slightly. "Excuse me?"

"Just because you didn't die doesn't mean you get to quit." Her voice was muffled, her face hidden in her arms.

Marshall actually chuckled, wincing slightly. "Okay." She didn't realize that he hadn't made the choice just because he was probably going to die shortly.

_Because he wanted to be by her side. Because she wanted him to stay. Because he was her best and only friend, and she knew it. _

One of her hands was inches away from his fingertips. Long fingers with short, sensible nails. Some of his blood still stained her knuckles, mixing with the desert dust, and gun oil.

_Try it. Reach out and take her hand. Just try it..._

He was moving, reaching...

Mary straightened up and leaned back in the chair, her hands on the plastic armrests and out of range. She hadn't even noticed.

His partner smiled at him. A smile of affection and friendship.

_That would have to be enough for now..._

He smiled back at her, watching as her eyelids slowly drooped lower and lower. This woman was his exotic animal. His own encounter with the Faerie realm. She was the sun that his universe revolved around. Had been for a long time.

_and maybe for years more..._

The smile slowly faded as Mary slipped into the sleep of the truly exhausted.

Unfortunately, he was just one of her many planets.

_and maybe forever. _

Waiting until he was absolutely certain that she was deeply asleep, he straightened, wincing. Marshall reached out and gently took hold of one of her hands where it hung limply. The lawman lifted the dirty, long fingered hand and kissed it lightly. For now, he was her only friend, her keeper, her partner and he knew he could not quit.

_Okay._

**Finish**

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**Thank you, thank you, thank you! It's been a wonderful story and you've been wonderful readers and reviewers! Please let me know what y'all think of the last chapter. Hope to see you all again with another story!**


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